He did not mean to hit the glass—
Feeders usually dangle from a point above,
Not suction cupped to a window,
And so, with a flipped tail and fancy approach,
He swooped in and found air had become
I ran out into the rain
And picked up his bedraggled form,
Cupping him with warm hands.
He blinked, beak open,
His heart beat sure and racing against my thumb.
I cradled him for a few minutes until
His eyes cleared,
Shoulders moved a little, remembering flight,
And then, I opened my hands
And loosed him with a prayer.
Foolish bird, perhaps,
But blessings glide in on
Such light bones.
Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe: Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at