Cycles

Unmistakable,
the scent of death coiled
along this trail,

beneath juniper
and parchment leaves.
We speak our fragile tales

as we pedal over
the muted landscape,
past the animal’s

remains.  More effort now
to see the quiet beauty
in what is passing –

but beauty nonetheless,
these little deaths
and fallen branches.

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2 thoughts on “Cycles

  1. We just lost three chickens and know of other animals and people passing right now. Thanks for this beautiful poem Erika. Mel

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