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 A Redbreast Flew into the kitchen

I was fucked, living from hit to hit and floor to floor.
The day after you’d traced me and come round, shaking,
To say you’d met someone, were having his baby,
And I mostly held it together, until you’d left, and your

Taxi had gone, and then I pushed shut the front door
And howled like some animal – the day after we’d held
Each other in tears to seal our breaking apart, and I knew
You cared for me, but couldn’t have me near your life –

The next day, a redbreast – not any bird, but that bird,
Your private, Dublin message bird – flew
Into the kitchen, where I was crashing.  Dipped in, perched
At the table’s edge, unpanicked, unruffled.  Clattered

 At no windows, just paused there, bold as truth
And looked at me – looked, looked – for a few breaths
And flew, clean out again.  I sat electrified, heart
Banging, nearly laughing at such a plain visitation.

Any semblance to living magic is purely coincidental
But thank you, thank you all the same