The birds you feed in their hungry hour.
The “sorry” you find in its buried womb.
The body you love when it’s losing power.
The hand you extend in the darkest room.
The words you shape to make the call.
The obstacles you fling aside.
The steps you take before you fall
as the world, pointing its thumb, asks for a ride.
What matters is you stop, roll the window down,
say, “I think there’s space for you. Hop in.”