Robin egg like confetti in the grass
and she gathers the pieces in her palm.
Looks up squinting,
but there's only that shared afternoon blue,
How all those bits contained a life
with wet wings and the smallest brittle bone,
I can not say.
Cracked by beak or gravity,
I can not say.
'Puzzling'
she whispers, the magnifying glass
lighting the shell so bright
that is barely there.
