See the teeth, the jowls, the eyes —
they snatched the pheasant from the field
and broke his neck in several places.
As tendon and skin shattered clean
life within left, left to fly out again.
Leave the feathers, the beak, the feet —
they were a corpse-shell for his soul.
If he lifted from those bones
as bright sparks of light
then that husk is empty.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved