Turkey Vultures
Circling above us,
their wingtips fanned
like fingers, it is as if they were smoothing
one of those tissue-paper sewing patterns
over the pale blue fabric of the air,
touching the heavens with leisurely pleasure,
just a word or two called back and forth,
taking all the time in the world, even though
the sun is low and red in the west, and they
have fallen behind with the making of shrouds.
