I hope it’s not just hunger

driving you so close

to a stranger. Cold rain

battering on the tin roof.

Between you and me

some crumbs on dry cement.

The little squirrel eats

with its bean-bright eyes

wide open, holding

the morsel with front paws

in the most grateful way,

hair standing up on its tail.

I know this trust is fragile.

My little guest turns this way and that

measuring the distance

from the bread breaker. Four,

three, two feet . . .

You must have seen what’s in my eyes.

I know the trust between us

won’t last too long. Fear

seems to have the upper hand as always.

Relax, buddy! I am not here to hurt you!

I am not even trying to touch you!

Let’s recognize each other on equal terms!

I caress you with my eyes! I can do that now

since we are so close. I can feel your

heart dancing inside that little soft chest.

I can hear the wind blow in your moistened

nostrils and your rain-soaked fur.

I can almost hear you swallow.

The beauty of trust between two

unlikely reconciled creatures

is the quick splashes of rain drops

hitting the surface of bamboo leaves.

Visible, and yet invisible.

It is there, and it is not there.

Hunger. Fear. Trust. Cold

rain. Man. Animal.   

:: Z. Z.,  Spring Festival