What the Vulture Saw

Beautiful blue
This is what they call sky blue
A serene wash. Not cool.
No, not cold. Never cold here.
Dust, dust everywhere. Bone dry they say.
Like that stick of wood. Parched. Splintered.
Run your fingers along it and you'll soon know.
Quiet too.
Not peaceful. This quietude drinks everything up.
See that can there:
I watched him suck the contents out.
Then: bang-bang-bang!
A caterwaul came from his mouth. A liquid wail.
The ground met his knees.
Head lolling forward. Arms spread out.
A desert scarecrow.
God! Where are you God?
Words screamed into stifling air.
Smothered.
And the caterwaul again.
His own Jesus in the wilderness.