Bird's Nest

What cleverness

to find haven in the tight corner

of a roof, the hole

barely visible.

Feathers, twigs, twine

are flown in

held in the magical mouth.

I type at my old

typewriter,

at my old desk,

conscious of wings

coming, going,

both of us

weaving new life

out of the complex simplicity

of every day.

of stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read  of 5 free articles. Subscribe to continue.

Only $1 for your first month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.