A Friend

 

He loved birds & when the red hawk landed near his office window

I was not jealous.

But I have saved birds when they flew in the kitchen or bedroom,

sheltered them in my hands, or when found sick.

Coveted them in open fingers felt the flutter and thrill of real life.

What will I feel when the last Red Hawk is nowhere,

& what will I feel when my friend is nowhere to be found?

When memory of his excitement and adoration is left flowing

unburdened by memory?