We found her mid-morning
inside the garage, bobbing
from rafter to rafter, back
and forth. Baffled, we stood
and watched her, saying,
The doors are wide open,
go back to the life you know,
the scarlet salvias you love—
Late afternoon, past the limit
of survival, she dropped
to the floor—beak pointing
skyward, already half
in the afterlife. Then
the emergency vet
and an oxygen tent.
She revived, briefly,
before letting go—
seized by the memory
of flowers and trees,
and the freedom
to fly straight up.