August
3, 2005 (I
was 60)
Red crested white-breasted black winged
petite
I should but do not know your
Hawaiian name
Names of many smaller species
echo their calls
so petite would seem to fit the
beak
You visit my breakfast each
morning
You have come to expect bread
I have made you trust me more
each day
tossing bits closer to my chair
so now you venture nearly
underfoot
Your sidling dance and angling
glance
indicate irritation with gifts offered
at risk
You tweeze the crust and prance
back
to nibble the edge off a heavy
load
then aloft but low above the
pool
over oleander into palms along
the black bay
where jagged lava breaks the
morning surf
I’m told it’s cruel to deceive
wild creatures
into reliance upon the hand of
man
And in a few weeks I will be
gone from here
but I remember you from last
year
Expectation takes the risk of self-deception
Every day adaptability expands
and each remembrance of a small
trust
draws us a cautious hop closer
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