What Is Left

A bird’s wing on the sidewalk

Nothing more

Beautiful and terrible

For what it is

For what it means

 

Every day I tremble

As I walk past

Its soft down

Corseted with bones

So thin

 

Yet after almost a year

Of my walking by

In sorrow, in joy

Indifferent to the world

The bones have endured

Giving the now flown away

Down the ghost of a shape

A wing

A memory of flight

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