This morning at dawn a bird
flew into my patio door.
I was still asleep, riding the last foamy waves
of a darkish gray and russet colored dream.
It was a little bird. A finch, perhaps.
It hit the glass door with a noise like wood
that sundered my dream
into silvery evanescence.
The creature lay still in its death
on the broken concrete of my patio.
Dead still I stood, for there,
in the violet dawn, striped with the cerulean remnants of night,
the little bird’s death seemed almost sacred.
I’ve heard most people dream in color.
I confess that I wonder what these are,
dreams and colors.
I wonder what this is on my patio, this death.
Jordan Morris grew up in New Jersey and currently lives in New York City. Her interest in poetry began at a young age. She studied English literature as an undergraduate, receiving her bachelor's degree in 1992. Later she went on to earn a master's degree in social work and became a mental health therapist. Jordan spends most of her time connecting with people, giving and receiving love and support.