Hunger too early in the morning,
before I can eat.
Before I’ve waited the necessary
interval after a pill.
I hear the birds, bragging,
no doubt, about breakfast.
The morning after a rain.
Good pickins’.
Yesterday a sparrow died
in my living room.
I heard the thunk, and thought
a bird had hit glass,
but when I heard no further russsle,
assumed he had flown free,
Later I found him lying on his back,
feet straight in the air.
On the white rug I’d put down
for the cat’s muddy paws.
It was sad to see and I felt badly
I hadn’t responded sooner.
Though I think he died on impact.
I blamed it our need for glass.
My husband said, “or glass too clean.”
But that’s not the problem here.
One French door was open,
I don’t know if he hit it flying in,
or the closed door trying to get out.
I took his photo first.
Another human folly – documentation.
Then folded the rug around him,
a white nappy shroud.
And gave him a burial at sea,
in our swale without water.
It’s lovely now since the rains,
the candy apple that trails its
banks washed clean, bright green.
Filled with the happy yellow
of sour grass blooms,
it’s not a bad place
to end up.