A Meaningless Encounter

Walking along a dirt road, I saw a bird freeze mid-flight. 
I paused my steady, mud-ladden plodding,
and the rhythmic crunch of gravel at last fell silent. 
The bird idled as though above such worldly laws as motion and gravity. 

I saw my hand come into view and approach this bird 
before I had even made the conscious decision to investigate further—
to prod at this fold in reality, this anomaly crashing into my everyday route. 

Floating by, a suspiciously mother-shaped thought cautioned: 
“what of the consequences such curiosity may invite?”. 
It passed and joined my cloud-sea of Once Thoughts, 
and my tentative fingers began to extend.

Concentrating, I bit my tongue and slowed my advancing digits,
hoping that I would only just brush the suspended bird—
as though a poke too rough or fast would dislodge it.

Even now, I can not decide which would be prettier,
the feathered suspension shattering on to the ground (utterly fragile) 
or un-freezing and taking off (familiarly real); 
I remain stuck,
even now, pondering if I would have preferred my happened-upon bird
leaving me (free) or staying mine (broken).

My finger quivered as it brushed that red wingfeather;
how imagined was its reality, its warmth?
My breath came to a standstill in time with the contact;
how dreamed was the wind’s responding quiet?

I could only muster up stasis for a moment before I was forced to inhale.
I retracted my hand, apparently not paralyzed by proximity.
The creature was a self-contained perplexity, it had nothing for me.
The pebbled ostinato resumed as I walked on.