We’ve all heard that thud—
stunned on the grass,
breathing hard, drawn close
to the hollow flight-feather,
beak cranking, the claw
scratching at air
till the neck warps, under
the sun-struck wall—
the other side of love.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 30 Number 8, on page 34
Copyright © 2020 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com