To Richard

I see you there still

little vacant winter nest

stagnant, clinging stubbornly 

to the crook of that diminutive tree

 

How did that bird ever fit inside?

Did she have to squeeze herself flat 

huddled in that hard, cold minute space 

Imagining comfort there?

 

Still you hang on

empty inside 

is it worth it

what you lost in your pride?

 

Where is the bird who once lived there? 

Did she outgrow you, stretch her wings and soar? 

She is flying out farther 

than you have ever seen before

 

While still you hang tight 

dry and spare 

your empty spaces 

exposing the emptiness there.