Bluebird

Jim took the body away
so I did not witness for myself
the lifeless form found beneath
the south window. He said
it was best that way. He
told me the feathers
were as blue as the sky,
a male most likely. In dismay,
I sighed, could only imagine
and momentarily wished,
to hold it captive, to touch
with my own fingers the
soft colors stilled by death
but undisturbed by injury.
Bluebirds, as you may know,
are hard to focus on and really see.
They move in a whirl and flurry,
vanishing so quickly, it’s astonishing.

Rest in peace, little bluebird. Rest in peace.

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