We rest together
our pale, skeletal frames as fragile as the young sparrow
you found in the ancient wood as a child.

His hollow form, consigned to the earth where he lay
by the hunter or the passing breeze?
Such is life you thought, brutal, beautiful,
indiscriminate.

Soon he’ll be indistinguishable from his pine needle bedding
oh to hold in your diligent hands,
something so faint and dear!



©*Thomas Gabriel