A Therapist Learns about Nesting

Gina Wilson

One bird

from fence to grass
to fence to holly tree
to wall
to grass to holly tree

brown flicker, lick of red
a second still
an eye.

Crows come and go
two magpies chacker, flap.

I spy on holly –
branches, sprigs.
No splotch
of knotted shreds.

Daybreak till late
whirr
swoop
from seat to gate
to holly tree.

I pry again,
a blackbird flees.
Then scratch of leaves
she lands
robin
by my arm

small chirrup
no alarm.

I chirrup back.
She doesn’t fly.
I let her be.

Indoors, I see her (small from here)
criss-crossing garden air
back forth
warp weft

inside her beak
moss
blade
breath.