even birds die

to Adrian
my best friend ever
who died from leukemia
at the age of 32


the other day, passing by,
I saw a bird in a tree, hidden and shy.

and in the light blinding my eyes
there was a hue of red,
a flickering sad hue of red,

fluttering and hurt,
dead not yet,
chirping instead
a dark song
tumbling down from the twigs
like a sigh.

I stopped short.
I knew I had heard it before.
I had heard it before, but never so sore,
so bleeding and sore as now.

and the longer I listened, the more I heard,
the closer I felt to the dance of the chirps
until we were one.
one melting fluttering shadow we were,
red, bleeding and hurt.

no more asking why
even birds have to die.
just chirping our last
fading goodbye.


Copyright © Marmotier 2013