It had no business
On a telephone wire
In the first place.
It was too much for its
Bird heart. Listening
to the throb of senseless
Voices groping for each other.
It shouldn't have
Trusted the strangeness
The ribbed snaking wire
Propped up like a
Flailing Demon every yard.
In a valley of stone
And cement and tree
There were choices.
There are always choices
At first dawn when the
Sun bowls all the buildings
Down like ten pins.
Was it the eagle?
Even I could see the eagle,
Pausing attentively a yard away.
It was grief. I know that word
Only grief could cause a bird
To fall simply. Like a stone.