countless times, I have encountered a finch
sometimes between the branches
hopping. sometimes flashing past my vision
but on this particular day
it lies still in my palms
not struggling, not even trembling
only tiny wings, a trickle of
blood. it does not understand
how much the humans setting up the bird nets
adore them
how can it comprehend that
in the human world, bloodshed, possession
and betrayal, are a whole different way
to express one’s love
it’s just like them:
love the trees, fell them all
love the blooms, rip the buds
love the sky, so cut the wings
love the people, so let them
spend their whole lives struggling like heroes
