Nests

Nests

For Daniel

Can I please the bird man
by looking in his handsome
cage at two eggs laid in yarn?
Will this please him?
Two finches:
alone all day they wander
through the mirage of
other mirrored birds,
they chew on cuttle bone-
and jump to sleep
in down warmth.
A weaving of wool
and feather rests
on the floor where the early
sun lights the cage,
in the same spot
where night-time
dreams roar away
before the door
is locked up.
Each day glares
at the birdman.
His flock,
two finches take
turns sitting on the round
shapes of today's chords,
behind gridded shadows
and hear the heartbeats
bound by the slant of morning
and evening song.
Each time the birdman returns
they are singing
about a simple few
turns away, perhaps from eternity.
Can I please him? The music
I make is from my breath
and thoughts of the cages
passing through
the nest we made
on his porch.
From a bare light
I see clematis vines
trapping me in deep colors,
knowing how I look
to the street he calls Mercy.
His instinct is
to lock us,
ink our future here
where we tangled
our fiber.
It is a surface

Carefully laid
with a song
purchased
second-hand, used-
up. Today there is air
mail winged
special delivery
waiting
in my own porch-box:
Two finches:
born two days ago.



Linda Hogan