Don’t you see it?
Falling, straight down, behind the window
Incessantly, falling, while you still wait
For its wings to pick it up again.
What is wrong with it,
What is it failing to do
To finally fly?
Why, as you speak, must I bear witness
To its demise?
Has it not met its end
In total silence?
A black stain on my retina
That I no longer see
Since I am darkness
And loss.