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Baby bird in the path,
damp confusion of taupe skin,
ebony beginnings of feathers,
oversized beak, beginnings of song,
upturned, crooked throat, offering.
The hum of flies, already at work,
a small stench wafting molecules released.
A short, empty screech from the tree above.
A once-upon-a-time scrap of Camelot
that took form, drew breath, saw sky.
Went home.