Eulogy For A Thrush

I am glad we were home
that afternoon
when the Varied Thrush
flew against our windowpane,
then lay amazed
among the pine cones
wondering how transparency
could be so like a diamond.
We watched her breast,
the color of a fallen leaf,
pulse slowly, more slowly,
her black beak groping
for some breeze.
Then she was still
but not alone.
Our mere presence
enfolded her,
tender as the Autumn air
she could not breathe.