The fang has formed the fawn, and red makes green
On meadow grass where blood distills to sap.
The world blooms from carrion soil, made clean
By vultures turned to blossoms. Maggots trap
Entropy, filth makes gems that then ascend
To feed the mockingbird. Eden labors
Ever to be reborn, and yearns to mend
The fall. The leopard's ivory sabers
Sculpt the antelope to a perfect grace.
The mortal screams of all the teeming prey
Are birth pangs that briefly across the face
Of a dreaming fetus flitter and play.
This world is a clenched womb, as yet unborn,
Where nothing has yet assumed its true form.

Mark Sauer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fang-has-formed-the-fawn/