Out of vines and tangled brush
He finds a clearing between mushroom and bush
Before he can catch his breath
A little oriole lands on hand outstretched.
The world freezes, caught in time.
It chirps and cocks its head, bright-eyed, feathers fine
A thin ray of warm sunshine
Unveils rich orange and resplendent eyes brown
While across those wings slender
Pretty white patches form the fairest picture.
The man yearns to admire
Endeavoring to stay still as a whisper—
But the moment is soon past
White-patched wings lift and flutter
Ready to catch on a long-awaited draft.
Dazed by grief and desire
He senses outstretched fingers start to shudder
Why not grab the oriole?
Take it home, feed it, and by hearth keep it warm?
Would it not be preferable
To love and shelter a life so valuable?
An age lives in this moment
Till at last the black bird soars from hand open.
What could he do but observe
When freedom was all that made it so superb?
His heart swells as he sees it go
Tangled vines now memories from long ago,
In their place this arrival.
A beautiful, unexpected oriole.