It hurts to be present. The robin lighted on the faded fence her back to me and raised her skirt and shit then flew away fast. The robin wasn’t like or as anything. The robin was a robin. So too the fence a fence and her skirt of feathers and her shit. I died a little more in the time it took to see her. We are all living and dying – me, the robin. And you. It hurts to be present.