you held my hand in that place of bird worship
where feeders dangled like shapely fruit
and we learned the names of loons, finches
chipping sparrows, cardinals
a pine-scented candle
smelled like forests
and photos of birds intrigued you
frozen, mid-song
or captured in flight, soaring
a thousand birds
perched atop a thousand branches
framed in dark wood
beneath the feeders
you wanted to touch the seed
piled high in those aged wooden barrels
dig your small hands into the millet and corn
until it stuck to your fingers
as we browsed the colony of empty houses
awaiting their first nest
we chose the hummingbird feeder
for its bright red promise
curved and delicate
it held the spectacle
of magic