. . . the deathless

nobility at the core of all ordinary things.

       Gary Snyder, "Word Basket Woman"

Yesterday I saw the scarred cat

Backing him into a hedgerow,

And later, dragging him away

By his gaping silent throat,

His blood-red eyes only blood

And yellow teeth still a snarl.

Now a buzzing shroud of flies

Hovers and covers what is left

Of this life we mostly despise.

Nature knows better, and none

Is wasted or ever finally dies, as

A procession of solemn beetles

Lifts him up and little by little

Bears him away in reverence

To resurrection into their lives.