If soul was a lark
eager to soar
but found a noose
bound tight
aflight it’s curling claw

If soul was a hawk
destined to poise
it’s still mutilation
thwarted by a centuries
noise

if soul was an owl
almost to swoop
but retched up a ball
a bullet of blood
in the feathery plastic
soup

if soul was a jay
hopping to score
a poisoned morsel
from an unneighbourly door

is there a hand that could warn
are there fingers to loose
or palms to shade
to comfort
to protect and prize
are there eyes to mourn
their winged demise ?