From the Space Opera

Vulture Gryphus

The winter wind
over the snow
and yellow clumps
of grass
went whispering
and at the cave
the shaman sat
entranced.

Meditating
deep within
and in the power
of gods
of shapelessness
and crooked forms,
smashed concrete
and bent rods.

Intoxicated
by the thought
of those he served
set free,
the condor watched
the winter wind
and muttered
dismally.

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