Flight call 

I return to the bird hide that is my home       and find a silver eye       zosterops lateralis gouldi 
beak varnished with berries       a comma of green on the jarrah deck
beside windows that mimic the sky       the trees       the shadow of the sun

I scoop it up       with an envelope addressed to you       a reminder from the doctor
still warm from the letter box       and balance its body on this sheath of white space
as if even now       after all this time        I am still uncertain of death

when my children were young       we would make a fire       and sing a song
to honour the small hearts of birds and animals       that had not made it through the day
and sit together in the dark       with the glow of flames       on our skin

but this is a season without fires       so I forage       and create a shroud of mulberry leaves
place a garland of camomile upon the keel of its chest       lead a solitary cortege down the path
to the edge of the block       away from the nest it made       with strands of my grey hair