Brown Bird
No blossom on the branch where a small bird clings, barely noticed as I pass full of my own sound. Then, a shrill tweet— Look at me. A flutter of wings, frenzied-- See my feathers, the multitude of browns I am like the branch of this old tree you take for granted. See my black eyes. Do I perch with ease on these torn feet? Must there be a blossom on this branch?