The Bird

A bird loved me. We met over a small lake. It was sleeping like a country boy, head between the knees, not like a bird at all.  Neither the water below nor the leaves above were as green. I watched it and when the chance came I chased it on the ground and caught it as though it were a chicken in the yard. Like a child, I must handle what I love. In my hands it became mesmerized. I’m not sure if from fear or wonder. The next day it spoke. It had put on clothes. We talked long hours about the avian and the humane. It admitted the clothes were uncomfortable, particularly at night. It was shy.  We lived like this for some days. I left. After a time, I willed myself into a small bird. Then a larger one. A night bird, a day bird. Until I was just right, just it’s size. And this is how you’ve found me. One bird, one,  and a cord of twisted hair.

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