I almost stepped on it—
though it might’ve been my

sole that brought it inside—
a leaf left in the shape of

of a bird on the kitchen floor.
I looked around for the potential

bringer-inner, seeing only Poki,
who is the tidiest of us in this house.

More likely Diego who loves
to lie in the detritus outside,

or me, out raking. It doesn’t
matter—what does is that,

thanks to the cloudy bright
light falling through the back

door window, it leapt up at me,
like a truly winged creature at rest.

I bent to meet it, peering, then
capturing it in pixels, taking a

moment from chores that needed
doing. And in that deep bow,

on what would have been my
father’s 94th birthday,

in a rare moment of grace before
setting it gently outside, half

expecting it to fly, I thought
to utter the best prayer I know:

thank you.