Two birds fall from the summer sky, dead, or dying.
They tumble with unlikely grace, feathers throwing small, tight rainbows that linger and mark their passage.
They fall for a long time.
The world is still.

The bodies land at my feet, motionless.
Their feathers are a deep glowing black, their eyes golden brown.
They are beautiful.

I take the smaller one in my hand.
It’s warm against my palm, and impossibly light — a miracle.
Without understanding, I place it on my tongue.
It tastes of dust and cool air and sunshine.

I turn my face to the sky, now empty and almost perfectly blue.
I swallow the bird whole.