Early Birds

Early Birds

Dark blue daybreak. I ferry my parents across the still
calm sea of first light. On both sides the pale blue-green
fields shimmer like cowed waves. Amazing to see in the
waning moonlight the fourth dimension of last dark, the

table strewn with grim death. We slip like light through a
keyhole into a world of crows and magpies, of new-slain
carcasses still warm, this ghastly repast until now an invisible
meal, the gritty black road littered with breakfasting birds.