The Mouse

It lay on its side
on the 
warm
smooth
stone
heart popping up
every few seconds
it wasn't hurt
but it was dying
as the grass grew
beside it
as the weeds
sprouted from cracks
it was dying
and I lay it in a box
a black box
with a single 
burning flower
so it would smell 
nice
I wished there was something
I could do
instead of sit beside 
the black box
head propped on my knuckles
its whiskers twitched
and its eyes closed
curling around the flower
a final time
I stoked its spine
with my pinky
and closed 
the black box
a hole was dug
and the box was to be 
buried
I walked down the 
rows of birch
as if they were pews
and the geese 
chimed like bells
and the leaves
fell like vails
and though the box
was light 
I carried it with two hands
and when the soil fell into 
place around
the black box
I thought of the little
creature
wrapped round 
the flower
and hoped it smelled nice