boxterjulep

He heard a bird.
The sound of distress.
He walked around a worn out shack to find where it came from.
He heard a squeak,
from below.
The bird stopped.
He looked down.
tall green grass

The bird had grey feathers
fine and fuzzy
sparse, covering
its tiny flat body
salmon skin
an olive head
bulged eyes, lids closed
its insides,
all of it
fleshy purples and reds
the amount squeezed out
the mass of its body
hanging off its beak
a horn of plenty
glistening, moist
soaking into brown
wrapped in green

He looked up at the sky
the sun, himself, locked in a gaze