a new feeder hangs
on a crepe myrtle branch–
yet the birds, sporting
their brighter colors,
hesitate,
stay low to ground,
peck at spilled seeds.
even here among
crepeflowers that surround
our round stone patio.
hops halting. glances darting,
they flit onto limbs at last
but ignore the taupe feeder
with its sky-blue trim.
their complexions
dance against white blooms
day by day til i find the feeder
near empty. their new gift
now trusted. i wait,
eager to experience
their brave leap,
their shed timidness.
for i cannot.