Mercy

Mercy is not knowing the outcome, whether we will be greeted in the morning with life or death. Mercy is washing the metal shampoo cap copiously as we transition it to a tiny water trough, rescuing the bird and forgiving the cat. It is spending the night with a Western Bluebird, tucked in beside the bed, in a hand knitted purse atop clean cotton rags within a shoebox. In the morning the Neptune blue prince, as if broken off a wave from water that is 16,000 feet deep, hops. He is alert, synthesizing a bounty of sensation. He transforms, propelled by his wings and disappears into space.