poem: at the beach, I thought...

I’m Slowly Turning Into You
(petit turtle requiem)


Strung out on song,
feeling heavy
and falling off
from side to side,
the winds breaking
on my bare back;
I come upon
a turtle still,
washed up ashore
its swim now done,
I want to cry
but I’m too numb.

The birds of prey
have just begun
to do their part,
peck out the eyes,
imbibe manna;
Blind, then defunct
reptilian being,
forsaken Grace
had left thee, to
unto buzzards
anoint God’s gift:
turtle carrion.

Mother Nature’s
wise in her ways;
aching stupor,
anew vesper
devolved till morn,
I tread the sand
and find not one
but a beach full
of leather-backed
buzzard sushi,
drunk, I think of
fat birds flying.