How many more? He is pinned 

between pedal and pavement

little wrist by little ear

we peek through chain link, try to find his eyes

try to see if he knows–like he must have known

when the pavement rose and the air gave out around him

when rubber soles scattered into stillness 

crouched on shards of glass behind cars with baby black holes–

that he is being left to face the alone 

the way a bird knows to dart when it flies past 

too low and too close, snaps your eyes 

shut, sharp inhale you clutch 

until danger has passed 

but he holds his breath, lips cold by feathers hot

hot, stings his shoulder

hot, palm spills candy wrapper and hot tissue

hot, birds descend from the sky

invisible until they are ricochet, sting 

hungry for a blood that pools on cotton jersey but does not run

 

We look toward the nest, willing it empty 

peek from behind cement wall, try to find their eyes

ask them how many birds it takes to carry a boy away