Ode to the Little Ones

He flew into my home 2-3 days ago. I rescue them whenever I can. Door open, cupped hands, freedom.

But my ceilings are too high and he insisted on staying near the top.

My son put his partner on his shoulders to try to reach, but he flew back high again.

I am very ill right now, spending days on the couch, and I saw him, an Out of Place blip on my otherwise pristine wall, all day every day.

Helpless and needing help, unable then to help.

Son’s partner said, “They only live for a few days anyway.”

“Yes. And they should be able to live as they ought.”

All things should be free to live as they ought.

This morning I came out of my bedroom and noticed immediately the Thing That Does Not Belong on the floor.

I think he was probably already dead, but his legs weren’t yet curled up so on the chance that there was something left in the eyes to take in a final sight, I carefully drew him up and placed him on the seed bulb of a salsify plant outside.

Its roots nourish while its seeds take flight. Maybe he’ll get one last ride.

The man with the walls. Another whose eyes well up in the energy of a room we built together, “I can feel the exhale.” The dead deer staring sightlessly along the side of the road. The moth whose one decision changed his entire existence to a cage. They are all worthy of being seen true.

And as I prepared to write this I wondered, who sees the seer?