Reflection

I'm breathing lovingkindness

for the little junco, after

yesterday taking away her friend

or true love, better self, companion

of her heart, that other bird

so like and so seemingly responsive,

moving when she moved—

towards, away—exactly matched

and met each time again.  And yet

not responsive at all, strangely,

always silent and cold and not

downy, no tender mantra of feathers

but hard as truth can be,

in the reflective surface

of the shiny silver kettle I'd left out
last week unthinkingly in the backyard.

—Christie