WILD CANARY

The cat dragged in a wild canary, a finch really. Its tiny beak opening and closing. I rescue it, knowing it will die of shock but at least, it will be easier this way. Soon, he grows quiet in my hand and I know I will paint him for all those yellows and delicate tracings of white. And in this way he will live forever.

11 /7/1987 ? no date

(written at the same time as my weird walrus dream sequence piece)

added 9/15/2016

last line was added. I meant it, but never scribed it.