I brushed the hoar frost
from your beak, transient white feathers
foreign to your indelible black;
I lifted your body gently, feeling
your fine rabbit-like bones with
my gloved hands;
I placed you where you could better hear
the sounds of the river rushing by,
freeze-up only now beginning.
Your body is under the snow
now, and the scavengers may find you,
but your soul they cannot touch.
November 5, 2008