My Love & I are Two Birds Building a Nest

For years, we’ve laid rhinestone
bobby pins & gold chains
at each other’s feet. Tentatively.
Unsure how to quilt a home
from our offerings. We’ve nested
before with men & understand
how to weave their twigs.
Though each time we look to past
nests for blueprints, our own crumbles.
However frustrated we are,
we begin anew. Zippers, copper wire,
& bits of iridescent lace demand
their own strategies. We interlock
them with gum wrappers, silver twist
ties, forgotten earrings, a swath
of sequins. If a piece doesn’t fit,
we lay it aside like the shiny foil I clasp
around your neck to form a cape;
we squawk with delight in your stateliness.
We build & we build until we pause
the furor of our crafting to cherish
the first moment we can lie flat
in our glittering basin. Our wings
fitted together, bodies hidden,
with just the green light trickling
through the leaves above. Head to head,
we trill of our pioneering. From unsteady
architects to collaborators confident
with each other’s beaks & breasts. We fall
asleep like that: our nest unfinished,
but the only one in the tree that shines.