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.