Something calls in the reaches of the night, where stars
wash back and forth, caught in the swell of the sky.
Its wordless words are saying that this place between
hoof, paw and the netted stars, that stirs in flaring nostrils
and tastes of the night, is love and anguish at its loss, is
birth and death and all of life between, muscles sliding
beneath hide and feathered flight. It says, listen to life
calling, hear its song in the snailshell of the ear, feel it
growing deep in the bones. Keep it close, let it not be
snatched away snuffed out in blood and tears,
but carry it always to sing, loud-throated as the blackbird,
into the teeth of death and the last silence.