The Pointed Circle, Spring 2021

Toys of Divine Beings

Hazel killed a little bird today

I caught him in the act striking

what moves 

            painstakingly playing 

the terrors of smaller amusements

        emotions ripped between 

the nature of one and the life of another 

intervening  I was

                stretching out the agony

 

this little winged creature in cardiac arrest

her chest heaving as if her heart might explode 

over and over, up and down

Nothing could save her.

 

I placed her still warm under a tree.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe she was just resting.

Naive thoughts often arise when the heart comes near bursting

Things might turn into other more pleasant things

if only we just wish them so.

 

I once refused to love anything more than the love of my life,

enamored I was and wanted nothing to take that away

Sometimes in these moments we are just toys of divine beings 

 

at play.