Bird Burial

branch piece
that earthward bends
here we secret lay our leaves
as jungle shrouds about this flightless form,
wet pyre, unquick ignition; returning we’ll search
to see our buried dead departed; they as the
starlings crest white mountain’s peak have
entered our other way’s warsuit—impart,
dear dead one, what things you were,
we’ll learn your eternal shape and
fit our earthly words into it—
it is now ascending; some
speakless wanting—
our grief, our
loss of you,
our terror
of your

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!


Gabriel Muoio


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