Hollow Bones Embossed

On lifting the blinds this morning
I saw the dusty image of some woodland bird,
imprinted on the outside of the glass.
A transparent freeze frame,

an x-ray of feathers, hollow bones embossed.
The head was in profile, turning away
in its final moment – almost as if he
couldn’t bare to watch.

So little ghost, hovering at my window,
where you fleeing the talons of some predatory raptor?
Where you seeking refuge from the rain
and finding no one home

left your watermark message.
How often I trespass into your world,
the ridiculousness of my seed bag,
my lumbering, gravity laden gait.

Your shadow is smoke from a signal fire,
rising into a sky under which nobody stands.
Paw prints in the snow. The clawed bark
of a tree trunk.

Tiny bones entangled in a ball of grey fur.
An puzzling envelope marked Urgent,
posted first class, but on opening
is found empty.

Today is Good Friday, I realise
as I admire your shrouded image.
Angels wings, fully unfurled,
hanging there – a perfect cross.