I’m jealous of the wintering sparrows
that huddle, shivering
within the shelter of my arborvitae
it’s a marvel to behold creatures
who keep such close company
with death
what must it be like to live
until the very moment you die
to simply fall out of the sky
an ember extinguished
a bright note, quelled
by a roving predator
or the insolence
of reflective glass?
birds don’t waste a thought
on the inevitability of endings
because they have the sky
and the sky has them
There is no lingering
when you live by the wing
no long, protracted dying
imagine what it’s like
when you’re not afraid to fall