Lament

they bow in unison at the seed font
fly through each other

sing their hollow bones over the field of reeds,

drought has turned them to ether

on our morning walk

she finds them first,
nudges them with her nose
the ones who have fallen from the sky,
who lie still with their breasts plucked out

I cannot accustom myself to these small deaths.

my cupped hands are filled with slightness
feathers who knew only flight
leave their host,

trail behind me
for one last ride on the wind

as I return their bodies to Paradise