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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