SPARROW
picture a dead sparrow on a grey footpath
to your terrace house/ its unoccupied eye
turned upwards/ shooting its dying into
the sky/ along a direct line of blue light
& cloudburst/ & picture the bird falling
from your window two storeys up/ giving
up its tiny position on earth/ leaving its
microscopic earhole & its twiggy brown claw
on the street to rot/ & the cold air which
hangs in its feathers is quiet/ & imagine
its untouched grey flesh turning soft/ i
am walking along the street where i know
you are living/ by the still clean air
where the sparrow has fallen/ exposed with
each abysmal step/ my wet skin beneath my
dark raincoat/ sinking slowly into sunlight
which is filled with my shadows/ & each
shadow is a crack on the footpath to your
house/ & each dark crack is a wobbly stone
on which to step/ & i thought i was heroic
until i looked up into your window/ seeing
my own reflection/ with your strange face
staring from it/ & you/ have a nice smile/
& i like the way you were chewing that soft
banana/ close by my earhole/ close by my
tightening throat/ & probably you were
smiling as you did so/ whilst i gurgled on
my breath/ & choked/ & i thought i'd hang
around awhile/ taking refuge on your front
verandah/ trembling between two worlds/
still chilled by the icy weather/ having
crashed into your cold window/ two storeys
higher than all i had known/ & how i fell
to my death on the footpath/ a dead bird
turning into cement/ its grey fluff rotated
by rain & wind/ i turn from your doormat
looking out/ & you are left holding a
petrified sparrow/ tomorrow i walk on the
other side of the street/ in search of
clearer weather/ terror clipping my ankles
with its little grey beak/ & i thought i
was flying/ & you smiled/ until i shook
like a bird in your hands | 
