“Inspection No. 3 On a single dead white bough Of a single death white tree Is scratched a mark Of the hooded hawk's want Talon probes in drying sinew Hungry vulture slumped in a dying land Unseeled eye pouring a glaze to the world's end Rattling dags in the memories seed Shade of disaster tearing a sign In warning spaces No sick prey for him to tend Wing-weak without his stoop His beak turns inwards”