The little bird
somehow
escapes the cat

but can't escape
the Death
that beats
under its feathers

bloodied in my hands
that hold it
I cradle it
& cry

the bird imaging
that when you die
a Great God
comes

takes you gently
in its hands
& bathes you
in its tears

a sunset
staining a sky
that is
fading
fading.


*******


IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES

The foxes blood
on the stone
still there two days
after

staring at me.
Only the day before
a daring raider

of my uncle's henhouse
the talk of our household.
But my uncle was patient
& stalked the lonely hourds

until the fox
came to meet her death
thinking only of her cubs
& how big & bright

the moon loomed
tonight
and how the fearful thunder
of the gun

had ended
everything
and how now
shot through the head

her carcass thrown
behind a hedge
she finds herself
still staring bak

into the mind
of the little boy
even more aware
of her presence

now that nothing
exists
and how for
ever after

the boy
carries her death
cradling it
in his mind

trying to comfort
her
with his human
tears.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-mythology-of-birds-foxes/