Death Becomes Us

Sometimes Death Becomes Us

“What’s that,“ I said at dusk last night ?

“I don’t hear anything,“ he said.

“That thump,” I said!

“I didn’t hear it,” he said.

“I think it was a bird,“ I said.

“I went and checked all the windows and sliders.

“I doubt it,” he said.

My gut knew different.

Feeding the tortoises this morning, I found the bird under the double pain window.

I was shocked.

Death became it.

It is sad. I am sad.

It looked beautiful and at peace.

Death is life.

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