A sea of green, blue, brown.
Warm and soft to the touch,
the pile of yarn.
Leaning over I gaze into the box.
He lies there. Chest rising, falling, rising, falling.
Tiny walnut beak gasping for breath.
Rust feathers. Coal feathers.
I pick you up, your broken leg,
broken wing limp in my hands.
Alone on the forest floor.
Pushed out of your home,
abandoned by family.
Trauma entered your life.
Finger strokes your spine,
tiny vertebrae perfectly stacked.
Warm, the final feeling.
In my hands you puff up, lift your head.