shadow

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.

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