Jelly the Alleycat must’ve killed that old gray Junco.
No blood (but that’s her style), just feathers from the initial surprise.
I let myself be baffled until L. found the skeleton behind the garage.
dirge for a fallen junco
sparrows and finches
search the grass
salvaging soft
under-feathers
sifting slate pinions
for snowy down
which laid aground
through a mild winter
the feathers
disappear
morphing one-by-one
into wild violets
