NESTING
wall
kindle
fragile
flight
This morning, something— a gesture?
a word? a scrap of dream?—kindled
a yen for flight beyond
these walls of age and time
and choices made. But I remain,
grounded in every sense, rooted
in a garden of my own construction.
A robin is building her nest
outside the window of the room
where I write, shaping the sticks
and grass with her muddy breast.
In the budding lilac, her mate sings.
If fates and jays agree, nestlings shall fledge,
fragile as imagined wings.
I love this. Especially the ending.
Thanks. I was pretty happy with it, too. The process: the first stanza just came, and that last line. And it sat there for several days, until I saw the robin building her nest. Then I realized I could do another stanza, using that last line. I love the way the brain works.