i pick up things that have died

i am in touch with nature.

the living and the dead.

i pick up things that have died.

with my hands.

like the cat, yesterday,

that lay in the center of buffalo street

with its head completely soaked in blood.

it had died hours before i found it,

cars and people having passed it by.

it was just shy of stiff

and i took it by the tail,

apologizing, apologizing

for its difficult death.

it was loved by someone.

  it existed.

  it mattered.

 so it went to the nearest lawn, gently.

i saw the color of blood, still wet,

on fur and asphalt~

the same color as black raspberries

just before they turn ripe.

and the dragonfly, also dead,

held lightly between my fingers.

i saw the cellophane wings

that shimmer the rainbow across

their panes when held to the light of the sun.