Order of Vultures

In a field dusted red with switchgrass blades,
vultures roost on a cell tower, their dark wings
wide to the sun. In the late afternoon
a fawn’s body will be abridged to bones
and tufts of fur. The swallows are on time,
swooping across the field, while the vultures
ride turbulence home. The creek at the edge
runs brown and swift from summer storms.
Once, these fields
were ocean, cruised by sharks.
If you dig deep enough you’ll find their teeth, still sharp.