My Fragile Happiness

I coax it, like an animal,
out of hiding and into my presence.
It wants only what I can give it, a
crumb in the hand--it is not after
the pleasure of my presence.
Alas, my hand is empty, and I
have fed it the last grain from my pockets.
"I have nothing for you,
today." I whisper, and off she scurries
to find someone waiting
with full hands.
But where are these hands that
are empty? I look around me and see
the grain drying in the fields, food
scraps scattered on the pavement, a
tree blooming. "Come back!" I call
after her, but she is
out of hearing.
So I go out searching
for the seeds I can feed her
tomorrow.

4~24~13