Bonding

parakeet perched on finger I repeat words to make mine his capturing his gaze does he know what they mean does he know what pretty means that he is pretty is he proud sunlight through window illuminates yellow wing feathers breast of green he’s bought to teach me patience as a child move slowly as not to startle gain frail trust with grace when least expected he mimics me feed and change the paper at the bottom of the cage care for him when molting feathers fall like leaves well before the call of spring patches of bare skin await transformation