Pine Siskin by Beate Sigriddaughter

"Look," I murmured to the green bird crashed
on the balcony and filling half my hand now. "The forest
is still there. You can make it. You still know how."

The bird sat with motionless wings. Only its beak
opened and closed without sound. One tiny tuft of yellow
and white down stuck out where wings joined body.

I stroked its head with one finger. It kept opening
and closing its beak without sound. From time to time
the slow film of blinking moved down across its eye.

From inside the closed balcony door the cat watched
with surprising calm. My heart beat too was calm.
For a short while I knew everything, with certainty.

"You can do this," I murmured over and over and over,
and when the green bird flew into the nearest tree which was
indeed still there, I knew I had been talking to myself.

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