Feathers twisted through the air,
Tangled and caught,
In the aimless descent
Of a dying spirit.
No longer joined to muscle and bone
Or unified by movement
And the intuition of flight,
They settled to earth
In a gentle chaos.
Quills tipped with red
Wrote of the inaudible fear,
Of the death suspended in the sky.
Too distant for sympathy or horror,
Yet close enough to respect
The nimble brutality
Of a graceful and admirable kill.

– Melinda Giordano

Author’s Note: The poem was inspired by the strange beauty and grace I’ve seen of birds fighting, talons locked, spinning through the air. A deadly ballet.