A robin
round black eyes like berries
peering at me impassively
as I stand and stare back.
It blinks its grey lids
as I watch, and blinks again,
then suddenly shifts its weight
effortlessly
turning its back on me
but still looking at me
over a grey feathered shoulder.
I take a step backwards -
it hops a little forwards
keeping me close range
fixed in its gaze
as if I am a little tasty morsel
instead of a clumsy lumbering man;
perhaps I am.
And it’s a joy
a sweet stilling of time
to be
beheld
by a bird.