A thrush crashed into my window:
one lovely voice the less
killed by glass as mirror—
a rich magician’s illusion of trees—
and by my laziness:
Why didn’t I hang the lattice?
Up there in the night air
among the high-rises, music dies
as you fire up your fake sunrises:
your light is the birds’ last darkness.
All over everywhere
their feathers are falling—
warm, not like snow—
though melting away.
We are a dying symphony.
No bird knows this,
but us—we know
what our night magic does.
Our dark light magic.
![](https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/arctic-tern_46rs.jpg)
![](https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/no-gannet1030RS.jpg)
![](https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Rufous-crested-Coquette-20RCS_25.jpg)
![](https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/VioletTailedSylph072RCS_32.jpg)
![](https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Bald-Eagle.jpg)
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“Fatal Light Awareness” by Margaret Atwood first appeared in Bringing Back the Birds: Exploring Migration and Preserving Birdscapes Throughout the Americas (2019), from American Bird Conservancy and nonprofit publisher Braided River. Published with permission. All photos by Owen Deutsch.