The Birdless Nest

I have held a bird's nest in my hand And caressed each instinct-woven strand Till my heart asked every empty bough, Who of all the birds is homeless now?

Whether it was robin, thrush, or lark Whose tired wings fluttered in the dark, Its senses bankrupt, thrust itself upon My heart as if the bird's heart were my own.

Spider web and moss and cat-tail fluff And dandelion down are proof enough No living thing but builds against the deep Inexplicable miracle of sleep