old growth

I waited for the bird to come

That had carried your trimmings cast for decades

It’s children, memories

Of your sugary stances

And dripping of words

The love that came from your mouth 

It built all it’s careful, patient nests

To practice the form of each tangled twig 

Each strand of hair it’s own melody 

A warmth in warp and weft 

A floating matrix which remains 

As infinite as the certainty 

That some eggs do fall from the trees

Serpentine opportunities in hanging