This Place/vernal pool on Willow Creek Ridge

This place does not need a statue.
It does not need a marker, this unmarked depression on an empty slope, a little greener,
where water was
from the lack of silvered last year's grasses.
It needs no human hand to tell it what it is.

This ring of bright new grass,
surrounding a half-buried crumbling stone,
its thick, wet moss in all the shades of vivid green.
There are two coyote scats,
(did she rest here? Did she lay her thin long face on slim, untiring paws?
Was this a singing place?)
tufts of gray fur, full of tiny bones.