a fleck in a sparrow field

A flock of common house sparrows, hundreds

of them, roll up high overhead as I walk across

the parking lot clinging to my cup of joe early

morning, then huddle in mid-air and funnel down

in a quiet flutter to the copper beech, hovering

seconds before each finds its own patch to forage.  

They’re scratching dirt in matted yellowed grass

along the footpath when I spot a bird mid-flock

whose exotic green color screamed to be noticed –

a parakeet.  I see a house of children missing its

family member, trained to babble their nick-names

and funny one-liners from its perch in the cage. 

One day, let out as usual, it circled the kitchen,

perched on fingers, kissed lips to beak, lighted 

on the Virgin statue and the sconce on the wall,

then, spying the door ajar a needle’s crack, shot

through the needle’s azure eye, family sprinting

down the street, flailing arms, begging him back.