Nesting
Few people there were,
the day was slipping gently
into rising pools of twilight.
Passing city lights
winked
behand stands of trees.
Here is a family of walkers,
how like birds they appear?
Their young, sleepily following,
tethered by feathers of light
in the silent dark.
Over there, a little apart,
birdlike,
a man and his spouse talk in low tones
their words peck unheard.
We are all here,
speaking between the light and its shadows.
Aware of each other we are,
like the sky is aware of the earth
when evening roosts
among all the nesting thoughts
collected that day.
The immaterial has been gathered in,
arranged,
we now settle as one,
only to fly away into another day.
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