A murder of crows
Feast on another kind.
The dried gore
A new dinner
Found in the field
While Cain replies,
“Am I my brother’s keeper?
They flutter and caw,
Fuss for space
At a sprawling table,
Squabbling for choice parts
Cooked by the sun.
Eve wrings her hands
For her missing son
And Adam searches
In all the wrong places.
When they find him,
They will not recognize
His bones.
Charles Darnell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crows-of-cain/
