Birdsong everywhere today,
yet not a bird in sight.
Even the air seems somewhat
startled, this gray and motionless air
clouded with the residue of
last night’s fires, the haze of toxins
and teargas obstructing the day
like a dirty window screen;
a day weighted with the absence
of those taken, silenced.
We are not yet done breaking each
other’s hearts. Not quite.
But the birds go on singing
just the same, singing for the sake
of the song, as though the world
would end without it.