Cooking Out

At moments
nothing moved

except vultures
who circled

high above
shortgrass prairie

stirring air
for stench

of carcass
under flies

on bed
of sunlight

near the
Santa Fe trail

**

Eating In

I play bones
said the man
in my dream

from pursed lips
in dark face
built to scream

what’s it mean
you who know
everything

faithful ones
near him drew
collecting

You cast lots
I replied
for the clothes

of the dead
before the smell
meets the nose

in a flash
they were gone
or rather

with me still
where vultures
do gather