Steel girders, bare, arise a crosshatch grid
from wooded mounds. By millions, birds nest safe
above sharp, forest-prowling fangs and eyes
that slink among still, shadowed limbs. Deep night:
the hollow light of stars above. No moon
is needed. Hunter and hunted alike
see forms, smell countless others, hear each stir
from rest. A cry and struggle. Crunching bone.
Torn flesh consumed through warning growls. Birds blink,
impassive, perched on I-beams, acres deep
and high and wide. New gargoyles for a new
dark age, their dung piled deep beneath their roosts.