HOME | DD

Description
Here's the bad news:
tomorrow
there will be a bird
on your doorstep.
Dead or dying, you think
it has something to do
with me. It does not.

There's the crux
you always think
the bird should rise up
and proclaim its killer,
its savior, should point out
which cat only watched and which
opened its mouth; which cat
is not a cat but a storm
or a window or another bird

and to be honest,
I would like these things too.

But it owes us only its death,
incapable of shaming
our compulsive involvement,
our need to make the bird
about ourselves.

You want to be jury
in an empty room. You want
to hold court
for every little thing
that makes you feel.

The good news:
walking in the woods,
there were no birds left alive,
not one.