turkey vulture dares
electrified wire fence
to shake this field aback,
once again with reaction
its comrades weave
the shroud of death overhead
the clouds timid
on the horizon
it’s always like this
the affront to the nose
the hum near
a chaos of blackberry bush
or the field buzzing
with the cold examination
by a noon sun
it’s always like this
the wind raising
a needle and thread
for careful fittings of
these new shapes
the fenceposts,
lupine, worn loosely
on the decay
it’s always like this
the passing of the afternoon
looking eagerly the other way
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