It lies on my doorstep belly up,
breast pale, twig-feet perched on air,
slate-hooded head tilted to the side;
a smear of down and blood on the window pane.
Moments ago, a trill of tickering notes,
flash of flint wingbeats hurtling
toward birch limbs, clouds, startling blue
splintered with light, body growing larger,
larger, filling dark eyes, then glass –
the self so clearly seen
just before the end.