Elegy 2

There is a machine digging into the earth.

Angels surround

the spot like vultures, curious

& hungry, as they mourn the death

of a pond. An ulna

led the searchers here—

the arm-tusk

that washed up on the beaches

of Las Piedras.

The claw chews the dirt

as if to remind, Don’t forget

your dinosaur,

as the ground is dry, dense—

in hesitation, it chokes up

leathery lizards & fish bones:

There is something it does not want

to give. What is it about an island

& the constant threat of water

that breeds the cactus’ soft

heart, the careful

shells of roaches,

as well as destroys

the only young things left?

We must be getting closer

to cracking

the nucleus. The machine

digs, while the rest of us wait

& say, Tell us

what the treasure is.