POETRY

nest of light

was it six consecutive seasons
she’d feather’d her nest in the light?
the street lamp stuffed with six old nests
finally emptied that late spring night
the lady called the city crew
clean out the long dimmed torch
she could barely see the street below
her upper out-side porch
the starling, wren or meadowlark
returned as oft before
but access that she so long knew
existed there no more
all eyes and beaks dependent on her
round-trip night fly-by
are gone and she’ll not find them
in the cruel incessant eye
of light which blinds her now
to the incubator door
the city-powered launching pad
that warmed her chicks before
they emerged to know the sun would shine
every evening when night fell
expecting daylight filtered
by a glass-blown oblong gel
will she ever pierce the membrane
or cease her frantic flight
be once more with her family
in her warm nest’s bright night light?

matt landers 5/04