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.
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