while it's fresh

i woke up the first morning in my new house.  my bed, delivered yesterday, turns out to be too small so my feet curl off the edge.  the building i live in turns out to exude more than straight equanimity on a friday night but i think we'll get used to each other. 

i see a bird on the balcony (fire escape technically, but it's wide and was a magnetic feature in choosing this flat) outside my bedroom.  it's staring right at me, and it's a bird of prey, a hawk maybe, brown and white speckled and eagle faced.  there's feathers everywhere.  as i get closer i see that it's standing, but is bent in half, and the bottom half looks dead. 

i'm not sure when the huge goose bumps rise up on my arms and legs, making it look like i am covered in coarse sea salt.  i think that's not yet, because at this point i still think it's hurt and at this point is when there's tears in my eyes.  salt in the eyes yet.

but then it's clear, this bird is not hurt.  this bird is standing on top of a bird that's dead.  the bird that's dead looks like a dove, round white and brown, pink footed.  and there is a bit of blood on the beak of the hawk.  but the hawk is unconcerned with the dead bird at this point, doesn't really seem concerned with much, is exuding much...equanimity...at this moment, that which my building has lacked all night and all morning with the party stair climbers and fighting women.

hawk is clear eyed.  it's looking at me.  i project that it's lost somebird very dear to it, that it's brought the otherbird to my window to take some time.  i project, i project.

but the feathers are flying, in the wind of the airshaft, little bits of blood on the feathers.  the blood on the nose. 

i reach for my necklaces, which are on the windowsill, which is wide, where i have set up a makeshift altar.  the hawk scatters with my reach, though the window is closed. 

that dove is with a huge heart shaped gash where the head was

the hawk has long tail feathers, has retreated to another sill until i am done with my necklaces, then returns to my window to eat. 

CODA:
returned late in the day to find that bird still there!  having put in a full day's work devouring the dove.  i took a photograph of the bird, and it retreated fast, immediately snatched the last one-third of the dove and took off, leaving a mess of feathers and her void behind.