Turkey vultures perch in their trees -
On two different branches,
In two different trees
Of the same kind.
Two black dots in a pale blue sky.
Each looking past the other one
From their own vantage.
Unfamiliar to the shape
Of their own beak. They do not beckon.
No motive. They will not become
Anything out of the ordinary.
They sit and wait for life to happen,
Or rather, for it to not. Call it oppurtunity.
They flutter their wings and soar
Only towards death. When they find it,
Tearing the flesh from the bone,
Devouring the innards in ghastly gulps,
Pecking til the bones are bare
And their stomachs are full.