Speckled and brown
as a cactus wren egg
the tea bowl you made
sits light
in my two hands
veiled in steam.

Tonight we rest
in tiny petal nests,
too new
to frisk.
Sealed, we wait
our stretch of days,
a stronger build,
the fresh felt will
to take the air.

So dappled I suppose
you meant to hide,
safe under scrub
on the hillside.
Who lost you here
so near my door?

New laid in the hayloft
warm and well
sunup and stuck
with straw
all rosy shell.