late bird: ex-loon(?), bereft of life
unknown contributor

Oceanside IX (To a dead loon)

I’m sorry to see, Mr. Loon 
that you are here all alone, 
sprawled on your side in the surf, 
waves flowing endless 
through mottled drenched feathers, 
your legs parchment twigs, 
your eyes unseeing, 
your half-open beak 
now buried in surf and the sand. 
If you were alive 
you’d think it undignified 
to have someone like me  
approach you so close 
and gawk at what’s left 
of your once-birdlike splendor. 
	I promise,  
	I shall remember you  
	in your better days.