Directions on how to build a nest.

Allow your mind to stream
into the imaginary threads
a bird would use to build a home.

It’s not necessary to love what you find.
But more often useful to collect
things that are warm. Sturdy enough
to hold things of value.

Don’t be shy about sharing
what is most important to you.

Collect what draws meaning.

Was it late afternoon, that first kiss?
And the strands of his dark hair
fell around you?

Breath, could we capture breath
too?

Fortunes who fortold you, river water
captured inside of tubes.

Bread, for the hungry sparrows.
Water for the thirsty trees.
Blood from sandalwood beads,
in the beak of a holy bird,

weren’t those colorful ribbons I used
to weave a scarf for you,
those afternoons drawn in perfect light.

The tempting wooden bowl filled with gala apples,
pressure from being bound like a lotus,
air from the mountains, oh how I was in love
with the very air that moved you.

Paint from the brushes who wash
color into the robes of morning as it
lays across the wheat fields, you and I
disappear into, monsoon rain runs crimson,
pressure of words inside of me,
the expanding diaphram,
that makes the graphite heart,
bloom;

Yes, it is neon, when you talk about
small things that you love.

I imagine we will hang branches all across it.
We will suspend them with invisible wires.

We will photograph it. Write letters home
about it. We will be proud of it. And nudge
gently our winged ones out into the wild world.

And wilder ourselves, we will be, wild birds,
nesting in the wilderness of what it is to be wild.

What is it, most importantly, that makes you
like a thousand wild red birds who dash and dive
close to it, and closer still, there is nothing to be afraid of,
home.

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This entry was posted on Friday, September 18th, 2009 at 6:32 pm and is filed under poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.