nests — a tiny poem

what they don’t explain is that you will want new ones

like rafts, the stony shore

life gone listless watching another death

a dying orange tree

you wanted the house because of its

globes, bright orange ornamentals

the morning sun full of juice

you could squeeze


after seasons and seasons and seasons there is a husk of years

walls closed in around what was supposed to be a dream

but wasn’t


the tree

its difficult death like a mercy

gummed sap, folded leaves


there are silences in the house as the walls breathe back their memories

of the pets, the gardens, the imaginings

why is it you want to run?

how fast can you start the car

loud music screaming from the speakers

where would you go?

after they’ve all gone


where would you put the ashes of a lost life?

your mother and your grandfather await the sea

that casting you’ve been working up to


it seems like nests are chapters

books you might write

the next house beckons bright

on some small island where you could be unknown

already planning that raft

1928 beams in a Spanish grove

an alternate universe of mosaics


“nests” —— copyright 2011 — all rights reserved

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