Talons wedged between the slices in the bark,
Scratching etchings into the miniature canyons.
You cock your head incredulously as you swing beneath a branch,
Honking laughter at my grief.
Would you sip my tears if I offered them?
Little bird dancing between the upper and lower worlds
While I am trapped in the middle way,
Clipped wings and tether.
I act as profane saint, and you the sacred clown.
Black and white, I am gray.
There is nothing to hold,
Nothing to give away.
© M. G. Iannucci 2016
Thank you to Jerry Vis for his wonderful photo of this White-breasted nuthatch. You can see more of his work by clicking here “Quiet Solo Pursuits”. These are one of my favorite birds. They race up and down the trees making silly honking sounds, so much fun to play with!