No more than a lump in the grass,
a motionless blue bird, eyelids shut,
wings stilled, tucked on each side
framing white breast and bronze collar,
no longer to glide the sky, no longer
looking to feed its young, no longer
to introduce the dawn, to sing
the joy of life with sweet turalees.
Without a proper shroud I wrapped bag
over bag over bag, and dug a small plot.
I knew no suitable burial prayer, so I
carefully laid to rest the blue bird.
After filling the plot, there remained
a tiny lump of dirt in the grass, so
with branches I rigged a cross, then
turned to leave the burial ground.
But I turned again for a last look
and saw miles away on the horizon
a rainbow forming in the sky
where there were no clouds or rain.
Tony Zurlo®, Arlington (Texas)