A bird flew into the glass of my window today

leaving its ghostly outline on the pane;

I threw open the window and glanced below,

searched in vain for its broken form in the snow.

I have left a strict instruction for the cleaner

to respect that imprint as he would a work of art;

all of our final moments should be so observed,

even when the world has gone, of which we’re a part.

AC   29/2/16bird-hits-window

© Alan Combes, 2019. All Rights Reserved

Alan Combes