.::porchfindings::.

On my porch at midnight

I’m sitting with my cup of tea

Moths dance around the light above

Darting, dashing, looking for their lost delight

I sip my tea, nodding at passers by

Pondering their destination, as they move farther away

This ritual continues this way most nights

Sipping, gazing, contemplating

Like a well choreographed dance on Broadway

As I embark on my well arranged tradition

I notice a bird on the dark corner of the porch

He seems to be lifeless, or waiting for life to leave

I get up to examine his situation

Breath still seems to be present, but only moments remain

He looks up at me as a catholic looks at a priest during confession

His eyes tell me his story, ”I’m dying”

I lay onto my stomach to be face to face

As if telling him his sins are forgiven

Minutes pass as I helplessly watch his final breath

Breathing stops, life leaves, I wipe my tear stained eyes

This creature neither reaped nor sowed

From my fathers hands he came, to my fathers hands he goes