the little moments of opening
the knowing that the dead sparrow found at the side of the road
or broken-necked by my plate glass window
is being missed by its mate, its children.
On a good day, its image of both brokenness and connection will stay with me more
than five minutes.
Then the fast-paced walk designed for another purpose slows and becomes a prayer.
The perfection of love, this creature of infinite ordinariness.
This post is a submission for the Poetry Party on Christine’s Abbey of the Arts, with the prompt: Blessed be.