This thing is real,
though held in my unsure hands.
A baby bird fallen from its nest,
coveted.
I am patient.
You are gentle.
I do not know what it eats,
so early in its little life.
You show me carefully how
its stomach is small, so liquids
and often
I'm scared i'll smother it,
I have before.
I've learnt its not like the water i'm used to -
that can be gathered and held, so long as you have a cup
to fill,
this is new,
and so warm.
Like you.
It is not an ornament,
or a pot of something cool and deep rooted.
It coos as it sleeps softly in my palm.
Mesmerized, I cannot put it down.
Our hearts are beating.
First mine, yours
Then it.
Poeyum 