Your Death

I saw your death yesterday in your fingers.
It was death like people had in the old days.
I saw it seeping in through your nail beds
Like muddy water through rice fields.

We sent no call for vultures.
They still came, dressed in black,
Nametags preserving their dignity.
I could not tell one apart,
Yet I knew them all intimately.
How the beak of one curved in a dangerous blind spot.
How another sharpened his talons against other talons.
How the feathers were faded like ink on dead sea scrolls.
How they are much like human babies at times,
All baldness and appetite.
What intelligence did they devolve from?

Their breath rasped sulfur as they came closer.
I said welcome. Welcome to your weak human frame.


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