linen and lace,
I wake to the sound
of a bird chirping near,
in a tree that
hangs low to the ground.
She looks at me; I look at her,
we survey the fine nests we have made,
she cocks her head
with a curious tilt,
a question hangs light in the air.
She might want a bit of my linen and lace
to line her fine nest in the tree,
or maybe some eider to cradle the eggs
in a comforting, loving embrace.
I pull down the shade
the covers pulled up to my chin;
I’ll keep my fine nest
for as long as I can -
I'll fly away some other time.