Sky Burial

The men with blond hair scatter their own ashes

With machine gun rounds, they hold back their tears

stifle a sob under the ground where a burnt child is laid

In dreams they peel back the burnt skin

tenderly unwrap the swaddled skeleton

With fingers trained on fishing line

and engine gaskets and compressor belts

they disentangle the organs from their bloody sheath

unwrap them with puzzled precision

lay them out like pastries on a banquet table

In the chemical haze the streets of the nation are serene

Tear gas drifts beneath triumphal arches

Victory is at hand

the serpent returned to feather her nest

the swollen rivers overflowing and naked

with the bodies of the undeserving dead