Was your death unaccepted?
Its arrival quite as unanticipated as mine
Must have been into your life?
And certainly as shocking,
As last Wednesday morning,
When you pushed open the sliding glass door,
We’d decorated at Seventeen,
With brightly colored stickers
(Faded now)
To stop birds from mistaking it,
For a piece of the sky.
Though, every so often, you would still hear
The muted thump and twang,
Of the glass reverberating
And we’d have to bury some poor, suicidal sparrow
In a shoebox
In the backyard
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