The body lies in a clearing

long, tan feathers broken in a breeze
quiet for a few minutes, washed up
from an array of shades, the place
where they gave chase.
Body exhales in the sun, yellow eyes
set in red shivvers, blue-green throat
crushed by loners; there is no blood.
The wood’s cool ambition repels
a body that did not make it;
little tenderness in claw and beak.
Since the body could not embrace,
its finery is the tomb of the wood
still warm for new beginnings.

About seasonalight

Ginny Battson, Wales. Writer, Getty Image contributor ~ ecology, enviroethics, intrinsic value of biodiversity, geodiversity, ecoliteracy. MA Applied Philosophy.
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