My Sparrow

With hands outstretched,

the bird lights wing.

It flies high above

a gentle breeze

in hopes to gain speed.

its wings tightly bound in form,

and grace the ever-beating

call in its song,

how graceful it dances

in my ears,

played like a lute on a sweet

summer's day in rich skies,

while I,

simply 'treat by the side wall

waiting.

my hands;

they hold a quiet gift to me,

reaching them out with clumsy palms

cracked from the dried air,

broken where the tide had been claimed

but held so still

so that someday

I may watch my sparrow

feed by such hands

without need.