makes
me cling to you.
the
window pane,
feathers
flutter.
Its
neck broken.
Part
of creation lays motionless
on
your patio.
Its
watery crimson blood
taints
the garden.
Shattered
wings now only controlled
by
the wind.
A
birthday gift, parting with a kiss.
Yearning
to be closer to you;
stifled
by this death.
The
horror of reality stares
at
us through the lifeless glass eyes
of
a pigeon.
©Cat Hill
Open link night 84 at dVerse poets
