Nested.

Light yawns in the womb of dawn,
spritzing the earth's skin with sticky citrus.
As dew ridden fingers are stretched
across the beak of a nested bird,
muscles contract - releasing song.

A deep auditory flurry of rustling wings
tickles each jagged branch below,
leaving Light to chase these charming shadows
along planes of prickled green.

Weathered wings embrace the breaths of other cuckoos,
warm with their guttural currents -
whilst new wings make haste against the flock of hours
within Time's syllabic camaraderie.

Each flight endued with Hunger's drive
is bound for broken bits of the tallest tree,
yet amidst this frenzied dance of winged thieves,
several twigs linger - untouched - on a bed of moss
'neath a grandfather oak.

One bold robin swoops,
eyes fixed on gold chips of timber,
only to be jarred by a fattened crow
whose rotten gaze splinters the robin's melody.

Silence trickles in with the clouding of danger,
each creature frozen in deliberate fear
until some bit of soil folds under crow's feet,
attracting its tawny eyes to a squirming lunch.

Our red-breasted soldier chirrups,
now advancing on his rediscovered treasure:
adoringly clasping every scrap laid still
upon a thick moss in its grateful beak.

Light tiptoes through the tips of leaves,
painting the ground a colorful mosaic
as outstretched wings catch wind.
The robust beauty of a life in flight,
sweetened only by the pinnacle of day.

February 3rd 2011
(c) Novalyn Grace RR