In Quarantine Time
Out in the back garden,
Checking on the bean plants
(Germination has been poor)
I spotted a dead mockingbird
I do not know what killed it –
Collision with a window?
Predator that chose not to feed?
Some silent, insidious virus?
At any rate, it was dead
The loud singer who chorused
In my garden, gone
Gingerly I picked it up
One feather, grasped
Between thumb and forefinger
It was so light
And insubstantial
And made me worry for
How any of us are tethered
To this life
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