we found a fox skull in the woods,
and you asked where the rest of it was,
the body, the bones, the fur,
the fluff of the tail,
all that was left was the gleaming white of teeth and jaw,
empty eyes in empty sockets,
did the other foxes drag it away?
or rip it apart,
an act of innocence,
an act of cannibalism?

we found a fox skull in the woods,
where the trees crossed the sky,
and made shadows and sunglows on our faces,
and you held my hand as we made burial plans,
and you didn’t mind the mud and moss,
that etched under your nails,
as you sank your fingers into the earth,
you dug a grave,
small, shallow,
and we placed the skull inside it,
and you held my hand again,
as we kicked the dirt with shuffling feet,
over the last remnants of a life,
reclaiming, remaining, but,
finally lost.