Inquisitive meows greet me as I step into the enclosure.

Nestled by the water bowl, battered feathers closed eyes. 

A limp outstreched finger to an unknowing god, I scoop them up

A job well done against the poor trespasser

The meows turn to protests as I step out and close the gate

I carry him outside, so light yet not enough to take off. 

Seems offensive to bury,

so I place them at the base of a mulberry 

Not a mine, not a canary,

But a fragile chickadee

So keen to shelter, and fill a belly

A broken wild spirit, is all I see.