“Waking”

The birds were so mournful this morning.

My windows were wide open and their life blew
Sweet yet dissonant—
I didn’t move,
My hearing sharpened just enough where every
Other outside clamor dropped
Like a heavy hammer, no leftover ringing consonant.
Their elegy was fluid; it flung from one branch
To the next like a spider web—impeccable!

I envisioned my demise as beautiful.