Yesterday I was on the deck
reading the paper, drinking
my coffee, the usual usual,
when I heard the thump, then the
crash, a copper-headed robin,
it just missed my glass bowl of yogurt
and blackberries, he lay there, stunned,
staring at me, shrugging his shoulders.
I knew he would die. There was no use
getting up, no use calling anyone,
the crash was too hard. Sure enough,
in exquisite silence, he rolled
on his back, gasping but not
gasping, blind, wings thrashing
idiotic. Then his legs stretched
and stiffened and his claws
curled like tiny fists. We sat there
as the sun warmed us. I thought of
my friend I’d talked with the night before,
how we’d perched in the fading sun
until the lake chill claimed us, and words
didn't matter. She was seeking
a window to crash in to,
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