Every Wiggling and Wing

touched it, its fingerprints. couldn’t hug it - too wide. pressed against it. hiked up my leg, to reach a limb. limber, i’m not nowadays. my wrinkled cage engages my imagination. i branch out. thick is the umbrella - the sun rays peeking through. bug-eyed, my grandson can’t reap the benefits. he sees every wiggling and wing. such appeared aft of my childhood. either that or i wasn’t wearing a magnifier. i still see four birds out on a limb - unafraid, angelic. they’re either courageous or unaware.