Passing (Working Title)

I heard your song on the wind, and came running. I felt the dust set in your feathers, and I wept. I saw the blood on the grass, an awful mess of red, and green, and white, and I curse the sky that forsook you. You didn't deserve this. It wasn't your fault, but no one was there to catch you when you fell, so, I took you in my hands. I held you to the sun in prayer. I placed you upon my altar, and I carve a rib from my side. I gift it to you in pieces, fractures and splinters binding your bones anew. I would not stop there. I clothe your wounds with some of my hair, quench your thirst with drops my blood, cushion your head with one of my eyes, and fill your belly with a piece of my heart. I fall. I ache. I yearn. I sputter. I smile. And you fly.