My fingers tremble
as I lift her,
just a whisper
of shell-bone and feather.
Her wings are warm and soft,
folded and still
in the cup of my hands,
her eyes, half closed,
hide their shine.
I look to the sky
filled with wingbeats and birdsong,
and wordlessly curse
the bright blindness
of glass.
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Captures the feeling exactly!
Thank you, Mary!
Wow, I know what you mean
It’s awful isn’t it