The songbird flew into the plate glass window 
on the second floor of the office tower, 
dropped like a fallen soldier to the sidewalk 
below, landing one wing akimbo, the intimacy 
of irridescent feathers, tiny bird feet pointing 
skyward, I gathered him in a tri-fold paper 
towel from the break room, carried him 
across the parking lot to my car, placed him 
on the passenger seat, sent his obituary 
to the wind and the sky. When I returned 
at the end of the day he was perched amid bird 
poop on the dashboard, head atilt, beady eye 
upon me, Jesus-bird cajoling, o ye of little 
faith, he was not yet done with this life after all.