Feathers may have been
the final refuge of the dinosaur.
An old neighbor in her bamboo blind
dwells on theories such as this.
Feeders hung around her pond
lure finch and sparrow remnants
of down-sized monsters who perch
within inches of her frame, bent now
and shorter since the time she sang
and whimmed by night with lovers;
flinched through work by day.
The birds leave as she stands
and walks across her lawn;
stops to curse weeds grown thick
where tar pits may have plagued
her slope-browed and wingless kin.