My panting dogs didn’t plunge into the pond
with their customary gusto.
They hovered at the edge,
and cautiously sipped.
As I walked closer, I saw the reason—
a dead porcupine floating on his side.
His exposed backbone and ribcage
were a crown for a demented woods goddess,
the key to a lost language,
a bass clef and staff.
His flesh and insides had been ravaged.
Masses of industrious maggots
ravenously consumed what was left.
A flotilla of quills bobbed on the water’s surface,
a whispered breeze filled their sails.
Hundreds of tiny hollow white vessels
released from their duties
enjoyed a leisurely voyage
before they filled and sank.
A week later, the carcass still ruled the water.
Creatures who’d felt his wrath during his prime
were wary near his corpse.
The only ones who’d dared to wrangle with him,
the maggots, had vanished—
Porcupines are mighty,
even as bones and hide.
You are astonishing in your brilliance!