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