Little Wren

She sat
Perched between
Wrist & forefinger,
The little blue wren

Sat up on her wrist,
Looked her in the eye
With first her left
Then her right
Chirping some
Sometimes talking.

I could not make out
what it was they said,
One to the other,
Something small
and private between
the two of them and none

In a blink
The little wren

Drops into the milk-white
Skin of her lady’s upheld hand
Artful pigment blends
upon body’s lines


Skips then hops
From wrist
To elbow
To bare shoulder

To fly
From out her
Left shoulder blade

Off and away
Blink and gone
A fully formed
Fragile and flying bird

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