Savanna Shiva

Hyenas left their scraps of bone and tail
to vultures, flies and cleansing sun. The herd
inched forward, halted five yards off the trail,
and recognized his skull. He had endured
the droughts, the planters, poachers and their wars
to live until his final teeth wore down,
his tusks now whittled shorter than a boar’s.
The bulls and younger cows made not a sound
and left the task of notifying kin
to senior matriarchs who knew his musk.
No human ear could hear the rumbling din
that tolled savanna death knells in the dusk.

The seven stood in shiva, strewing stones,
until a minyan formed to mourn his bones.