Spoiled Rotten

I am prompted this morning

to consider things putrescent.

Vultures are soaring to scan

the shore so I look with them.

A bloated white body of a grass-

fed carp rises from the depths

of the bay like a slow-mo eruption

to float

through the threshold

of sky and water.  Just out of reach,

so the huge birds land along the point.

And I’m floored by the fatuous

comments of the humans who are disgusted

by the “filthy birds” gathering in a precise

pecking order, watching the creep

of the current bring the body

to their care.  How can we not

praise these two species especially

dedicated to decontaminating

the planet, speeding along

decomposition?  How is this sacred

act scorned and abhorred?

I tune in to the willingness

to plunge in to the blood and gore.

Awaiting what makes us shudder in dread

with wide wingspread warnings

to stay in line, brother.

Integration is a precious gift.

Close to the shore, a fin breaks

the surface, a carp tugging weeds

from the lake bottom.

Above, replete,

the vortex of vultures play

catching updrafts, ascending only

to dive alarmingly in downspins,

and if I relax into

deep listening,

the strains of the symphony

orchestrating this dance

appear:  not sight or sound,

the vibrations of what moves us

in that space where we are one.


Inspired by:  Floor, Fatuous, Putrescent, Eruption and  Bay