Bird

A tiny bird sits in your ringed hands,
Wringing hands
cease to be the still perch for the sparrow,
Grackle
growing black and large,
taking flight.
Empty hands close to hold each other.
The warmth quickly fades.
Unsure hands pick each others skin
in a secret ritual.
Slightly open mouth.
no sound.
Wide-eyed and embarrassed because
you would "caw caw"
call out
if no one else were there.
Instead, to bide time,
you twirl a stick in your fingers.