We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The hearts grown brutal from the fare
Someone killed the bird. Perhaps you might tell me whom. Hawk, crow, cat, coyote. Racoon, rat
We need empathy, we need eyes that can still weep
I saw the remains last week and I saw them again today, but more torn; as if someone had considered the wings and breast a feast of some sort but gave up after ripping everything apart in preparation for the meal. I could smell them today.
the gray air haunted by hawks.
I usually throw flowers on corpses I find. It is my way of recognizing that the creature was once alive.
I dropped a clover flower on the body of the rat–itself decomposing on the rainy sidewalk.
Do you know why I stumbled upon so many dead today?
I feel I am on the interstices of life right now–in a strange way. And these little dead bodies that are nearly not bodies anymore–
I cannot/Tell you how strange
where are the beings that inhabited them once?
And now before the Door
I never saw before
quotes from William Butler Yeats, Robinson Jeffers, Emily Dickinson, Lydia Millet