Lifeless Visions

In the middle of the road

Where the asphalt runs thick

And spring heat liquefies the nearby air

Lies a bird.

It’s yellow and red

Now a lifeless vision.

—

There are many troubling questions.

How far did he fly?

Is this his native land?

Where do you bury a migratory bird?–

Should I fly down to Guatemala?

Or offer it, in some secluded spot,

To the vultures?

—

But I scrape it off the road,

Remove it from the sticky profanity

And rub away some dirt

From a secluded spot,

A place resonant with dignity–

Affirming our’s as well–

Cover it with twigs and mulch,

And whisper an apology.

—

How many bright visions

Lie lifeless on our roads?

Let us tend, then,

To our unburied dead.