i found the body of a small bird on my kitchen floor.
it was so small, legs curled upwards,
eyes lifeless and open.

how long had it been there? it was
evening, the silky winter light
had almost set, yet outside i cradled it
in my palm, soft and green.

on grass stained knees, i dug
dirt caked fingernails through
dusty earth, and
mumbling a prayer, gently buried
it under the camellia bush.

i have never been interested in death,
content with my own indifference,
but oh – to settle a beautiful thing,
tuck it into place under the earth above
which it once soared, to part the damp
soil and return what once was born –

was the world always this delicate?