My fears: the screaming vultures; splitting each part of the body for the whole, there, my heart of its attachment for flesh/ beats once more –
Fir trees look up to the blank space.
A turbine of wind presses my body
and draws a caesura –
Fresh blood/ vermillion coloured kite
throw up to the sky.
The trapped wind sighs
against my half eaten form.
The kite leans on another kite
unattached of strings
against the blood stained sun…
Do vultures indulge in eating away dead
Hearts and hands in your land?