excavations happen

in my mind, my heart and my yard –

all bringing up bones of my past.

some more literal than others.

and one by one,

each dog taking a turn at the new found old treasure –

no growls or competition –

each trusting there turn will come

and at last it is brought to me!

i take it by hand, not mouth – with no intentions of having a chew.

i prefer to gnaw at metaphors

and search for meaning in my ancestral DNA.

They surround me, these dogs — curious at my myopia –

can i not see the treasure before me now?