The Realizational Quality of Birds

Thonk against the house
in my early morning kitchen
curtains still closed against the grey
almost-dawn and in a flash
I thought I was dying
by invasion from the back porch
and a terrible end but it turned out
to be a big bird bashed against
the window so I sighed not exactly
relieved to remember the thonk of tires
and a magnificent grouse
fluttering at the side of a road
looking back in the rear view
and blood unrelenting for days
upon weeks occasioning my visit
to the doctor requiring that drive
and the passing
thought that I was dying
the only explanation for such a torrent
but it turned out
to be a function of change
even good and necessary change
and looking back from a vantage
of what I realized in my kitchen
this morning is actually seventeen years
(which makes me think of rock songs
and girls of seventeen) since I stopped
bleeding and so much else that now
I listen for thonks as a way
of acknowledging change
both good and unkind but all in time
and I know for sure
I am dying

Whew. Inspired by Avant Gardener in the Imaginary Garden