His head was smashed against the kitchen floor;
I found him lying breathless, looking dead;
The tiles were stained with sperm and blood, blunt sore.
The stranger moaned, and coughed, and spat, and bled.

Not knowing where he fell from, I reached out
To gently hold his head and hear his sighs.
He could not speak my language, but spelled out
A charming chant while smiling at my eyes.

I took him to the bathroom, stripped him bare.
Fragile, reluctant, he got trembling when
In awe of his grace, disturbed by his fair
slight body, I resumed my care; and then,

I felt his flesh react to mine and cling
Whilst, carefully, I washed his wounded wing…

Ernesto Sarezale, 2000-2004