flying in & outof the nest this morning—One chick, quick little breaths,hops & flaps between bush& rock—from railing,to table, to nest—She tilts her head,looks at me—I ask myself gentle—to cause no harmhere, but alreadythe small dogcomes trotting toward mewith a dark still moundin her mouth—a chick,I believe, from a different nest—                                            •I catalog each harmI’ve ever made with my handsor mouth—the timemy father rose earlyto make apple pancakes—told him, please,take me hometo Mom’s—the nights I’d sometimes hear him kickingthe goddamned-stupid-piece-of-shit dog& sometimes how I’d slipfrom my room, steel myselfto stop him, then couldn’tmake the words—empty-handed—just looked—                                            •Or the time I watched my neighborknock down the pigeon’s nestwith a broom—one quick brushstroke—crushed the little bodiesbeneath a metal trash binso they wouldn’t return—Too messy, she said, toomessy.                                            •The chicknow totterson the sillof the bucketthat holds the sun-flower (smallwonder), she is trying outits bouncy green arms—                                            •I wonder if that old dog looked up at mepeeking over the banister—small body—                                            •Sometimes my fatherwould playthe pianolate into the night.It was sobeautiful.I imagined the notesfloating up the stairsto me like littlebees—