The nest

The threads of grass, so round and dry, intricately woven,
With small beady eyes and sharp black beak
the blue green lichen is so mindfully placed.
The soft deep center gathered with special care,
Such a safe, delicate place to set oneself.
And all of this love held so high,
Safely cradled in the crook of the limbs
Or delicately balanced on a branch
Covered by design or surprise by the big broad leaf,
To keep the treasure dry and shielded from prey
That would pluck and feed.
This sacred place so instinctual in its creation.

Guided by a small heart beat and a tiny breath
And supported by the assurance of the preciousness of life.

 And here I am.

The creator, the nest, the limb that holds the nest,
The broad leaf that protects the softest deepest place.
I hold my hands out and bring that softest part to my heart.

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