Death of a House Sparrow

Death of a House Sparrow 

Scraping his toes in the fine dirt,  

the handsome house sparrow  

lowered his whitish belly  

to the ground, deepening the depression  

of a crater arid from drought.  

Flapping dust under his wings, 

beak pressed to chest,  

he dry cleaned his colours  

in the earth, expressing in movement  

the joy and power of God’s nature. 

Perhaps it was a pain or a sorrow  

that made him stop still, 

every nerve in his body petrified to its tip.  

I stood and watched, both of us  

locked up in our silent selves.  

Then in a narrow orbit – shaking, 

twisting, trembling – he moved  

around and around, trying hard  

to resist this sudden  

and strange bewitchment. 

But the spell was too much,  

its effects binding, irreversible.  

Ratios of motion and rest,  

of quickness and slowness,  

were changing fast, diminishing  

his power to be a house sparrow. 

Helpless, with no crumb of comfort to offer,  

I just stared as he toppled over,  

and passed from a state  

of perfection to – what? 

I left and a minyan of ravens flew by 

in a chorus of chatter. 

I listened. I heard the call. 

Little in this world lasts long – 

But he who has a body capable  

of great delight in the dry earth,  

has a mind whose greater part  

is eternal, forever comprehended  

in the infinite mind  

of the One who made him.