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