Taking out the trash.
Walking back from the street.
A small form on the concrete
between the houses.

Like a frog, or something.
I looked closer, curious.

A dead bird.
Young.
Just a baby.

I looked up for the nest
Saw no obvious point of origin
For this fallen angel.

My eyes turned reluctantly downward.
taking in the tiny naked
unfeathered form.
Face up,
forever gone.

I stared for a while
Feeling odd
Wondering
If a kick to the bushes
or a spade scoop to a trash bag
was appropriate

Or just to leave it be.
Let nature take her course.
Some scavenger
would surely take care of this.

I walked away,
imagining a tiny skeleton
remaining a few weeks later.
Hoping that it would be gone
tomorrow.

Trusting to nature
to take care of this thing
I could not take care of myself.
Would not.

Sometimes it's a bird in the driveway.
Sometimes it's not.