Long years since I’ve seen
a bird take flight
or even ducks eat
from my hand.
The wind touched me
and now I see my face
reflected in the pond.
The innocence
that I was born with
is gone.
When I was small,
there were birds
and they were fearless
pecking into my hand
for a stroke of trust.
They’d leave thereafter
swallowed by the clouds,
and leave me aching
with the memory,
craving the touch.
