hope not for omens
preparing dinner
a thud, a dull glass thud
I have heard this before
but why today
since many long I can not even say
since I heard that sound
so distinct
a missile, a blind kamikaze mistake
and there she is
delicate little bird
curled up on the planks
outside my kitchen window
lying lifeless, I know this
this was an ending note
with hope I throw on my coat anyway
slip on my outside slippers
and gently cradle the little
hoping for a twitch
wishing a miracle
but no, a head tossed to and fro
in the tide of past life now
so little bird
I lay you down
may you rest
upon this ground

notes… just sometimes things happen, and you are no longer an observer but the recounter of a story, of a life, and so it was…