More Than Just Us

A hawk broke their shoulder,
collided with a building
encroaching their wetlands.

The hawk was taken in,
and with time and care,
their shoulder healed.

They were to be released
at the urban pond where
found injured.

Dozens of us gathered
on a clear mid-autumn day.
They brought the bird over

in a crate, said a few words
about their story. That is,
fragments known of their story.

The crate door opened.
A few tepid steps, wings
arched, spread wide.

And then the hawk became
air, rose to the treeline,
disappeared behind it.

I think often of that bird,
of the many like them
who don’t survive

our attempted
severance of self
from the earth

we belong to.
I think of the many
cages we forge

from beauty
that ensnare
more than just us.