Allegory of Art

    for Yuyú Unclear how my cousin has come to master hunger in wild birds. They call him, or he them by a quick whistle against his open palm or the rattle of worms and corn the songbird

hears inside the plastic case. Often they spy him deep among his orchids and stare at him one eye at a time. However spare their frames, he catches their presence, then

looks up to verify his favorite mockingbird or the loggerhead shrike, or both. He makes me sit quiet and still and tosses a worm to see which one will feed in midair and which, unafraid,

would rather come to his fingertips and pluck his morsels, that nearness alone should leave us awestruck.