the dead bird

from the balcony five floors above ground

something penetrates the crosshairs of my sightline

a dead bird on the grass near the benches

the sun in perfect attitude to smear its coat in light

the day bright enough to encourage visitors to the outside.

this can never include me.

they may not notice what I notice or see things the way I see them.

some speak a language foreign my sensibilities.

the dead bird has entered the space of its paradise. 

inside, the soprano Kristine Opolais is singing the wrenching

“Addio” from "Suor Angelica”

and at the kitchen counter I prepare a creamy peanut butter

and seedless blackberry jam sandwich for lunch.

elapsed time: from the balcony sighting

to the kitchen counter:  23 seconds