the last bird i remember when every day flocked to my porch. walking to catch the train i's see schools of pigeons speaking stanzas to one another. life had headlight then. when the reports came in about the bird, some wanted to eat the last bird. others wanted to dissect him. him, a small pigeon with iridescent blue feathers & a thimble for a heart. he was still alive just standing on a street corner & reciting poetry. crowds gathered. feathers fell like snow. all businesses stopped & we listened. hanging on each word. on the morning he disappeared, we wept.