A small adolescent bird sat on the edge of the porch pecking nervously for spilled birdseed that might have been overlooked.
Somewhere
elsewhere
a tabby cat sat waiting,
hungry for the occupation,
unaware of the hunt that was there.
When found and observed in its stillness
found laying painfully is beautiful.
The bird left dying,
grants the discoverer
the opportunity
to observe real beauty,
up close but panged
by the impersonality of the find.
The bird left dying evokes
heart wrenching desire
to connect through saving or salvation.
the ability to save is not there
the Inability to connect and communicate
love for beauty is overwhelming.
It hurts so much
realize that one’s love for beauty
forever disconnected
the dying bird whose suffering unavailable
is so crushing.
The observer cannot hold
the dying bird,
it is a breach of some natural order
the observer decides
the observer wants to hold the bird
the observer wants to console the bird
who might need no consolation
in doubt and in fear
the only recourse is burial.
Remember then Forget.
Bury.
The beauty of Life is buried
Honored.
The life of the bird unknown
-unknown to the undertaker-
cannot be given its true honor.
And who or what could attest?
Who can give a name or a history to the life of that special bird?
Perhaps the cat
who was with the bird in their final moments of living.
Is the closest the discorverer could ever come
to knowing the bird
is to the know the cat who killed it?
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