Even as a nest was being
formed, I settled in,
sensing a mere whistle of wind
could change the place I rested.
I had wanted just a moment
in the world. I was alive,
and then the moment passed.
A quiet thing, a life.
Some moments
one could whisper back.
To quiet from the nest,
reaching, receiving
and allowing lines,
if they were lines,
to blur.
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