Maybe Sparrow, It's Too Late

Behind my house, Lexington/Lyman, E. Hollywood

Your body limp beneath my feet; your dusty eyes cold as clay. You didn't hear my warning. But somebody ate out your stomach. Just tore away at it. They left your eyes, closed sweetly in death, but disemboweled you. Was it a cat? Another bird? A disturbed little kid? An even more disturbed adult? The neighbor's dog? I have no idea. But we wrapped you gently in one of our dog's poop bags and buried you in our trashcan. If the flesh is indeed resurrected, and animals get to come along to heaven, I will be terrified of you.