Field Notes by a Slender Path
I held a bird
in my hand. No.
It was a game—
a child’s game. No,
my bird friend said
when he unstrung
the mist net where
one bird hung mid-
flight, between scrub
and sumac, by
the slender path.
Like this. He placed
it so. In my
open palm—then
closed my fingers
fingers up. Female
yellow warbler
he said, and he
barely turned herleg to read the
