letter to a cedar waxwing

After you flew into the window at work,
I brought you home.

You looked suprisingly soft and peaceful
when I scooped you up from the concrete
and cradled you in that old paper bag.

The way your neck and wings
fell and curled back made me
hesitate and try not to break
anything else.

It was a cool and sunny morning
and sometimes I wonder
what you were thinking
just before the end.

Maybe you were thinking the same thing I was.
I bet we'd be simpatico that way.