Our Worlds are a Birdhouse in Empty Space

OUR WORLDS ARE A BIRDHOUSE IN EMPTY SPACE

Have we considered that the robin 

ought to know that the entirety 

of his infrastructure is in

the grip of a six foot piece 

of fishing line? Has he been made 

aware that fishing line wears thin 

with time, exposure to elements beyond

even our most adamant declarations

of control? No one ever told him?

True, it’s notoriously difficult to see—

much less to name—the water you swim 

in. Or maybe because hypocrisy,

as we were taught from early on,

is sin. And then, would he listen anyway? 

Do we? Maybe we don’t tell him anything. 

He’s doing his best. He needs a place to stay. 

Maybe we wait until we find him downed 

and with a broken wing, scoop him up 

despite his cries of protest, then 

hope there’s someone there for us 

when our houses go too. This is a thought,

if only one—as all—precariously built.