the birds fly
carrying
bits of yarn
in beak
to build a nest
i imagine.
the burden bears
down
upon me
as the hollow bones
ride the air
above.
and i feel
a burning inside
to matter
to build a nest
or
be the string
in which
it is started.
it feels like
everything
points
to hopeless
even as i
hope
it isn’t all
pointless.
so
i watch
with bated breath
breathing
the bait
of another day
spent trapped
in the wrong
lane.