Finch Fall (Poetry)

He fell — exploded in mid-flight
fooled by reflections in the glass
the liquid splash of dawn’s clear light
a block that wouldn’t let him pass.

The noise sharp as a pistol shot
awoke the house and cracked the pane
the bird, neck broken, a green blot
that feathered stone with death’s bright stain.

Upon the patio it lay
beak open in complete surprise
its spirit winging — miles away
already gone to wider skies.