pretty bird

my pretty bird.
i held you here
in my diseased and broken wings
for a while until you came around
and were healthy enough to fly again
to anywhere but here
because this is not a nest.
this is the ground.

and why did you land here?
well.
i flailed and flapped at you
i saw you circling
aimless
in pain
nowhere to stop
and said "land here. rest a while. though i can no longer fly, i've seen the sky and i know what it can take away when you've been to long and too close to the sun. stop here, let me hold you...let me feel a bit of what it means to fly...i remember...i remember..."
and now perhaps you are on the mend.
but i can't yet open my wings.
for some reason.
they seem to be stuck.