Skull at Red Hill
The skull stares a stark mystery
From under the scarred Pinions,
A lonely place to rest exposed
Upon the windswept ridge.
Through the needles the Zephyr sighs
A gentle dirge for all once living things.
The ribs and leg bones are here as well;
Their dispersion across the ground
May reveal the final passage.
But I am not a reader of death,
And retreat through the gloaming
Toward the sanctuary of my truck.
In the distance a coyote wails a requiem