there's a pulse between my palms
a desperate pounding
disorientation and distress
I walk away from the light
peek inside tightly closed fingers
brown and dusty wings
such a tiny body
my hands part
it has no hesitation
I follow it's erratic path
back to the security of the light
it beats its wings against it
I cup my hands and close them
around it once again
so easily I could crush that twittering form
just push my palms together
and it would turn to dust
but I am no menace
I open my hands again