Fleeting Poem by Helen White
Fleeting
The air near my fingers felt fraught
as still and unbreathing
I waited with hand outstretched.
Time stopped.
My eyes locked onto his
and gently and slowly I blinked
and in that motion he saw that he was safe
and he came to me,
a flutter of a whisper on my palm,
his pale brilliant beak a magnet
to the tiny crumbs of bread in my hand.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: verse
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4/23/2024 2:36:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
