The bones of a small bird were
in the exact center of the sidewalk.

The slowly falling snow
frosted them like a cake;
I wonder what its last thoughts were?

Did it even know what was happening,
when the color of its life faded?

I imagine the birds
scarlet agony, and bruise-colored fear.
What did it feel? Perhaps

nothing.
I wish it could tell me.

So sad to be so small, so helpless,
but,
the bird could only be a bird.

All of these thoughts made me colder
than the December air.