Thoughts from the hide.
He watches a blue-tit feeding
its young, the fledgling a blur
and gape and gulp of demand,
the adult bird infinitely flustered.
If a bird can frown, it frowns,
and seeps invisible sweat.
The tongue knows only four tastes,
salt , like re-routed tears,
acid, a dry suck of lemon,
bitter, the exudate of brilliant beetles,
and sweet like a strawberry shake
or his mother's milk
which he does not remember
but for which he feels suddenly grateful.
The blue-tit flies off to seek another bug,
another fat curl of caterpillar,
which will be as satisfying
as his mother's milk,
which he cannot remember.
The first flavour on his tongue
apart from its own familar saliva,
was the taste of his mother's milk
which he cannot remember
but for which he is suddenly grateful.
The bird returns with a moth
as pale as milk, or moonlight.
The fledgling swallows it with a bulge
of eyeballs, then gapes again.
grasshopper
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