I’d sit all day
on your windowsill
bright as a flowering
bouquet. I’d fly from

room to room, following
you as you move. I’d see you
in the morning as you lifted
the shades to greet the day. I’d see

you in the kitchen, peering over
the sink, fixing up your breakfast –
pouring a glass of milk to drink.
I’d follow you to your office,

hiding behind the screen. As your
fingers danced the keys I’d preen my
feathers. And pick on an ant waltzing on
the sill until the sun fell. And you climbed

the stairs into your bedroom. Your wife drawn
the shades. Then I’d fly high inhaling
the memories. The sky, pink chiffon. I’d sleep
on your lawn. And wake you with song in
the wetness of the morn.