The semi’s aerial knocks a rising thrush back
down to roadside shrubs it startled from.
You hit the brakes on impulse, pull over,
ply the green for breath, not half-
knowing what you’re looking
for where grasses lean like shadows
from the earth. Soon it’s lusher
than the balance of the best life
left to you. Scratched up
by your detour you find
not a gouged eye but the live
head it came from staring
fiercely from the other side.
When on the spot you teach
your hand a love dance
you can have it. Because
you’re half-blind to what
you’d drag your own feathers
through you bring it home.
Because it’s no flight risk
you feed it worms in a dirty
clawfoot then dial the DNR.