The other is also about a bird that
died but it's a different kind of poem.
It's called Death of a Favorite Bird.
What was the matter with life on my shoulder?
Age that I was watching the delight,
that you had to thrash out your breath in the spiked rafters
to the beat of rain.
I have asked this question before, it knows me,
it comes back to find me through the cold dreamless
summer and the barn full of black feathers.