the warmth of a yellow bird

I didn’t see it happen, but I heard it. The unmistakable thud

when a bird hits the glass. I ran outside, but even then it was too late,

The snow was melting a silhouette around him like a shadow growing at sunrise, 
draining him of warmth.

It was beautiful.

This morning while stirring the dying coals of last night's fire 

that looked like a burning city I understood once again, I do not know pain.

I have not suffered.