I could smell
your flattened body 
torn across this dry 
rocky tar, my metallic fingers
peeled your tail upward like
a strawberry pancake.
But my bag fills not with roadkill.
My mind fills not with shame.

How you climbed those rocks 
those cables those walls
and those trees. 

How your tail flicked across
those last traces of sunlight.
Along these fresh beads of dew. 

How your fingers spun 
across nuts and berries
as they fell among
your children.
One of the girls 
always seemed hungry.
One of the boys
always wanted to play.