what is left

it takes a body much longer
to decay than you might think.
it has been more than a year
& there are still fragments of muscle & flesh
on the deer in our yard.
in the summer, the grass grew tall
& swallowed the bones. i would sometimes
forget where he was. then, picking
through the brush, i would see the antlers. 
his ghost comes on the fog
to keep vigil. i go & join him. i ask him 
questions about what he is waiting for.
i love when people call death,
"transition." i started hearing it 
sometime last year. i thought of my own
bodies. the ones in the yard & the ones
on the lawn. the ones i use as scarecrows
to try to keep people from eating the corn.
the dear's skeleton lays as if he is sleeping.
knees curled into chest. his resting skull.
i fill my old skulls with water.
tell the birds to drink. i am trying to understand
what is left behind when we transition.
it is not just the blood. footprints.
all the paths the deer walked. headlights.
i want to shake the dirt. i want to 
be the zombie tonight. wake up
as a girl & run screaming. barefoot moon.
ugly ragged dawn. let's not get
too carried away. i guess what i mean is
who tends to what is left behind? 
is there another world where my old face
lives with the deer lives with the wrinkled apple lives
with the first of coins. the old ones 
no one can use any more. money of dead king.
i am alive in the transition of 
an empire. the fogs comes & with it, the deer.