A red-winged blackbird has come to visit. What a surprise.
Over the din of construction equipment and yard tools, the male red-winged blackbird calls for a mate.
The red-winged blackbird seems to be serenading a pair of courting mourning doves.
A feather floats to the ground. Whose?
Even after I forget who I am, I think I will remember birds.
Today, my Turin horse was a pair of bluebirds trying to nest in a construction zone.
The next time you see a bird, know that part of me is with you.
I kept one thousand words in a cage, then I set them free.
On new asphalt, the muddy tracks of Canada geese look like hieroglyphs.
Unable to accept what is, I tried to will a dead goldfinch back to life today.
If I hold your neck, will it unbreak? If I open your eyes, will you see? If I run my fingers along your feathers, will you fly? Summer is coming, your brightest season. Now you lay in my hand, your toes curling as if around a branch. I breathe and you don’t.
Today, my Turin horse was a small bird who died because he tried to fly into the reflection of a tree.
I laid the goldfinch to rest on a bed of moss and covered him with dried hydrangea blossoms.
In this world / we walk on the roof of hell, / gazing at flowers. — Issa