A Little Bird

Loved Even If You Cannot Fly

With blue, fragile wings folded tight,
a little bird once flew in—
and made a nest inside me.

I stroke it gently with my fingertips,
peer at it with quiet gratitude,
my eyes drawn back to it again and again.

Which rain left you soaked?
Like a frozen branch, you curl inward
those wings that never learned to open,
so painfully dear.

Little bird,
you receive my clumsy love
without a sound.
Loved—even if you cannot fly.

In my small and shabby heart,
your whole world unfolds,
and because of you,
I begin to dream.

You give wings even to me,
you make a nest even for me.
Little bird, thank you.

Thank you, my little bird,
for loving one like me—
who cannot fly—
with such tenderness.

*these are my own paintings *