The Metal Bird

All birds sing,

even this one whistles music-box chirps

while shaping pins and wire into a nest.

Clucky gears wind spools and springs

and always something whirring.

Sunlight gleams, sharp white,

off his back.

I can only imagine catching him,

holding him in my hands—

tiny heart tick, and quick

shallow breathing,

rivets and screws like Braille

and cold etched feathers.

A machine,

but his eyes are different:

black silk glints—twitching to a stop

at every feature of my face.

**

Valerie Loveland works at a video game company in Austin, Texas. To see more of her poems, visit her website: valerieloveland.com.

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