I think I read it right: the eyes of small birds do not rotate in the skull the way ours do; that's why they're always tilting, jerking, twitching their entire heads to catch an image.
I think this posing guy, with no dark patch on his crown, has a rich enough raspberry color to be labeled purple finch and not "just another" house finch. I have to catch myself on the verge of thinking "just another" cardinal, "just another" gold finch. They bring pleasure every day, but are not as exotic as, say, a Northern Parula Warbler at Magee Marsh.
The purple finch also made me think of e.e. cummings. Again. If the children in the poem were yours, would you be OK watching them follow the balloon man out of sight?
[in Just-] by E. E. Cummings : The Poetry Foundation [poem] : Find Poems and Poets. Discover Poetry.
But in case that's too easy--or God forbid, too happy--here's Emily again, thinking of a lover. Did we know she thought of lovers? How could we not have suspected?
Wild nights - Wild nights! (269) by Emily Dickinson : The Poetry Foundation [poem] : Find Poems and Poets. Discover Poetry.
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