The bones of things

There's a clearing in the woods where the deer go to die, where the foxes gather with gleaming eyes. There is a black tree, with a dark hole. It is old, it is old, it is very old. It is the essence of time, the density left at the bottom of the cup. Drink up. It is a black mirror. There is no way out. Do the foxes see you, with their mirrored eyes? If you look at them you are lost. Here is a skeleton, the skull of a deer. Here is something waiting to be born. After many springs, the earth reveals the bones of things.