Crucified Dove Poem by Sharlie Goddard

Whilst out running
I noticed white
Caught in the branches of a blackthorn hedge.
At first I thought it was a plastic bag.
But then to my horror
I see it is a dove.
Crucified.
Between the v’s.
It must have died slowly, discreetly,
In the summer.
Only now in the winter
Is it displayed in dissected detail.
Beautifully bleached bone.
Its insides out.
Perfect white feathers still attached on the wings
The wind mocks life.
I weep for its hopeless summer flight.
How it could have fallen so badly and got so snared?
Birds fly.
Gently I free it,
Let it glide onto the soft leave litter.
It settles with its wings outstretched,
Pointing the north and the south
A ghastly weather vane.
I cannot bring myself to touch it again.
I have interfered too much.
I should have let it stay in the heavens.
My displace dignity has denied it the perfect sky burial.