gifts, by j .b. gerald

hopping amid the gravel and grass
the sparrows
in random directions find sustenance
like ufo's masquerading as stars in the night sky
but kin

after a mid-summer storm
a small rainbow arcs from pines
to a garden

iridescence on the neck of a pigeon
the city smell of dust
but why is a butterfly here

i understand these as gifts
thank you

a sparrow
colour of english eyes
separates from the others
hops insistent for attention -
a crumb of love bread compassion
saying
have i taught you nothing?