The Bird

Fallen
from its perch, resting
until my hand
arrives on the cage-
floor-scene—what
difference, now,
between this
and losing
you?

Your silly
songs, your
feathery irises
with their paper-
weight gaze,
changes I made
for you each
day to keep you

alive & well.
How slight
the distinction
between the two
of you, the one
alive, other nesting
underground

near the jacaranda
which hasn’t any
wings.