Across the drought-dried field, vultures perched
on hay bales, wings twitching with anticipation
as a road-trapped body took its last breath.
The wake was swift. Muscles to guts,
a legacy was devoured in mere hours.
As the final vestiges of life fluttered away
in matted tufts, blood trickled between veins
of concrete and pooled beneath a roadside sprout.
We’re here now, ignorant of the past,
watching a pack of coneflowers
bloom in unison. Their petals bowing
to the pavement, a gorgeous memorial
for everything we’ll never know.