Reading Blake in Daylight

October 27, 1994|By Elizabeth Burgard

(in the post-modern era)

Black Vultures ride the current

in the bright shadowless noon

with sight born to find the dead.

Landing on the hot concrete road,

hunched scruffy backs to me,

they tear crushed snake.

My car drifts to a stop,

one turns, lumbers forward, lifts,

wings span the windshield,

its head bears down.

Out of the wrinkled bald skull,

contorted folds on what is not a face,

death-finding eyes fix on mine,

pressing my body back against the seat.

My heart flails in a pitfall,

bloody wings drag the glass,

threaten not to rise.

Talons clack across the metal roof,

clamber up the air,

leaving me to grope

for the lambing hand of God.

Baltimore Sun Articles
|
|
|
Please note the green-lined linked article text has been applied commercially without any involvement from our newsroom editors, reporters or any other editorial staff.