I found a dog skull

in the woods

It was the skull of a dog

not some coyote or wolf or fox—

this i’m certain of.

It had man’s touch pressed into

it’s shortened snout

and loyalty smoothed

into it’s rounder shape

I wondered about the dog it was

before it was just a skull in the woods

before teeth marks made their jagged tattoos

in the crest of eye sockets

I stared at it’s moss-covered form

centered in a clearing

almost slightly on its side

and I thanked the forest for giving it

a funeral

and the moss for making it feel

not so alone

and the pine needles for giving it

a soft bed

and the birds for singing to it

day after day

and I thanked the sun for kissing the bone

for no dog

dead or alive

should feel cold.

So I lifted him from the ground

gentle

and I promised the forest I’d take

good care of him

and I brought him home

and picked the vines off

and shooed the bugs away

and took great care to scrub the dirt

soft and slow

‘You’ve done a great job,’

I tell the vines and bugs and dirt

‘But I’ve got him now.

You’ve done a great job,

but it’s my turn to watch him now.’

And I promised to love him;

a pinky swear to the sun

a gentle kiss from the vines and bugs

and dirt

to continue that sacred vow

to care for him

sweet and soft

until it’s the forest’s turn

again.