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
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