Moving fast.

Pushing through the trees,
hair flailing behind with the wind
and broken ground.
And mouth
open -
(releasing a spirit)
Taking in new, clean air -
meeting the sky, sun and stars
and coming back down. She cries
one last time – that crescendo of rising sound
And all is still.
A stagnant, rippleless lake; a frozen heart-
even the trees are still.
And we try to revive her,
red-breasted,
wings wrapped round like a winding sheet.
I take her in my hands
(cupped by warm blood)
And softly sing…