10 stars,
I wish i could read it again for the first time,
Reminds me of something i wrote a long ago
Once,
Beneath the night smell of chestnut trees,
a man once told her a secret.

It's not the animal.
It's not the bones of the animal.

At this he waved a finger

It's the memory of the earth over the body,
That makes the fossil.

As her thumb runs over the moon-dusted vertebrae
of something that died so long ago
never touched alive by human hands-
The forest keeping it a secret,
Preserving it

So she could touch it now beneath arrows of moonlight.