number 23

i am you
little junco
though the dog did not chase me
though rough hands did not scoop me
from the grass
though i was not cupped protectively
to still my heart and calm my nerves
nor carried to safety

when you opened your beak
in rage so profound
you could not make a sound
when it looked as if you wheezed
because you could not articulate
your displeasure
your disgust at requiring rescue

little bird
i am you

tree swallow (20210430)

at first glance
you appear blind
but this is soot in your eyes
or more specifically
soot in the feathers
around your eyes

the how of your home invasion
interests me less than the what
of your search
i have been told
you build mud houses
in the chimneys of
other’s houses
(mine also mud, of a sort)
without regard
to updrafts of hot air
or safe escape

you allow me to release you
to cloudy skies

you shit on my hand
in parting
which is probably
the most common
way to say goodbye
to a savior