"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul."
Emily Dickinson
​
If hope is the thing with feathers
would it be the bald eagle
riving the baby seal
carcass on the beach?
​
She eats her fill
before the moon-pressed tides
collect what's left.
Let crabs, then worms feast.
​
Bacteria will take the rest.
How else to return
what no longer holds
life to the living?