Returning Alone

The feeder lays bent in the wet grass,

seeds scattered like tiny stones

across the morning’s breath.

Dawn breaks and a blue jay—

hesitant, sharp-eyed—returns,

tilting his head before pecking

at the ruined banquet.

He doesn’t call; no others follow.

Just this one, alone,

reckoning with the spill,

the unexpected silence.

Outside my window,

I watch and wonder

if some losses leave a space too wide

to fill,

and still we come back anyway.