• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 05
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A Still Life in Tiers

This assassin is a ruination.
Lookouts – Sparrow today –
never know when he will appear,
at birdbath, feeder or towards sky.

It’s not right –
our best feature is our vocals,
the perfect pitch and rhythm.
No, no, it’s a striking vibration
on the easterly, and he strikes.

The bow, feather-fletched,
fires the zing of air.
No hedgerow for comfort,
no call for territory now.

Cleaved, diverse and elaborate,
as stiff stacks of feather tracery,
we become queenly fillings for
Elizabeth’s songbird pie.