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For years, I’ve been finding bird feathers in my path. I have a small collection of them on my altar and have identified most of them: crow, mourning dove, seagull, pigeon, and one very impressive turkey feather. I receive them as sacred gifts.
Earlier this year, I wrote about finding a whole crow, fallen already dead from a palm tree (I assume). And last week, I encountered an extraordinary varied bunting (I think) near my city’s downtown aquarium, which also has an aviary. I assume it escaped, but obviously had a terrible accident in the process.
There is plenty to grieve in this world, every second of every day. Somehow, these bird encounters have been powerful for me, probably because I love birds, and because they are happening in real time and real space, up close.
I have felt a sense of awe around animals and have been especially drawn to birds. Last year I took a falconry lesson near San Diego, during which a Harris Hawk flew to my glove. An astonishing experience.
This week’s poem is another reflection on the (likely) loss of a tiny bird life. Curiously, and completely without knowing or planning in advance, I wrote it in the exact same form as the previous crow poem: 16 lines of rhyming couplets of iambic tetrameter.
Lost Bunting
Violet wings fanned at my feet,
you struggle fiercely in the street.
Lost or happenstance escaped?
I make my panic story-shaped.
Long-haul truck or window pane?
Torn mesh wall or brittle chain?
In haste, I chase you to the curb,
yet safety is a pretend word.
City built of profane stone.
City of we should have known.
Disinterest turns the landscape gray:
another songbird gone today.
Death as vast as life surrounds us,
cavernous–its family countless:
bodies swept by hurricane,
feathers falling with the rain.
I especially like the first two lines of the last stanza.
How beautiful and how moving.
I love birds too and have sadly experienced fallen ones in my path.