Carry On
by Brandon Krieg

  
I biked past 
vulture tearing open 
fly-eyed fox’s organ bag 
on the farm-road’s margin at the curve. 

Startled to flight, it followed me a ways, eyeing me, 
not caring if haygrass is up already darkgreen 
or ticks are plugging into blood. 

What a gaze. 
In it, mountains shrivel  
like salted slugs.  

After generations, 
deer gone albino from fallout  
run in red coats again through falling snow. 

That then 
I’ll never reach 

brushed me  
with the shadow  
of its wing.