Erica

She rests with God above the ground,
her bones to pick by things that fly,
No longer caring where she’s bound.

The desert god deep orange and round
descends to night with tears burned dry;
she rests with God above the ground.

I hear her ask if I have found
a reason for her not to die,
no longer caring where she’s bound.

A red hawk swoops with ripping sound
and spears a gray striped finch nearby;
she rests with God above the ground.

We float motionless, as if drowned,
and she stops asking questions why,
no longer caring where she’s bound.

I helped to lift her, tanned and browned,
to her flight, nearly heaven-high.
She rests with God above the ground,

no longer caring where she’s bound.