in her backyard, a finch.
rosy colored, new, seemingly blind with swollen eyes.
i went to help tuck him under a bush for the night.
as i approached, he flew up
like a moth dancing away from flame.
he settled back down in the brittle grass,
and i let him be.
i would look for him in the morning,
surely expired on brown blades.
somehow, someway, he had survived the night
and was back in her yard,
sighted just enough to have found his way
into the feeder on the 3rd try.
and so, the rosy finch has come each day,
1/2 blind in new territory,
finding his way to what will sustain him.
i thought he had come to speak for her.
to show her the way.
he speaks for me,
and assures me 1/2 blind
is sight enough to sustain her and me
as we find our separate paths to home.