This story a nest
from plants
you know—I steal
my material—
anything really
easy enough
to hold
in flight—
soft bark,
twigs, Spanish moss,
palm thread,
spider web, sometimes
even spider eggs—
I like light work,
a loose weave—
Why not?
Rain runs through
and still I keep
these handfuls
of hope
warm, sheltered here
somewhere midair.