atop the mausoleum
their feathers stirred
by winter air
three sparrows shift
uneasily
like the throng
in long coats
gathered quietly below
you can see it
in their faces
an awkward
silent
agony
pain mixed with
such a need for release
“we’ll try again”
a young mother’s resolute desperation
even as little Emma Claire
takes flight with angels and
the trio of triumvirate sparrows
distance themselves in the sky