An elk carcass

lies on the forest floor

of an old aspen stand

A treasury of bones, grease, and musk

in the center aisle of a gothic cathedral

blocking the path to the altar

upsetting all the conventions

of church.

.

Ribs curving toward the sky

like scythes buried in the ground

the skull’s carnival grin

expressing something

beyond time.

The emotion,

—perhaps alien to humans—

of a forest feeding itself.

.

The legs have been pulled

and twisted

in different directions

by a single-file throng

of scavengers

choreographing a slow dance

one step at a time.

.

These remains,

brand new ancient ruins,

become a shrine in a remote glen.

Many creatures stop by

temporarily becoming devotees.

.

The end of one trail

gives birth to ten new ones

this carcass the sudden hub

of an ephemeral world

spider webbed with paths

the syntax of nature

winking into view

like invisible ink.

.

In our strange world

Death is the absence

of the body.

In the forest

Death is the presence

of the body,

a new terrain feature.

.

In the forest

Death is a Place.
.