March 8, 2015 by Rosemerry
I find a deserted nest
just big enough to carry
in one hand—
it is beautiful, this emptiness,
so beautiful I want to hold it.
Somewhere else, a great migration.
I cradle the wreath of dried grass.
It is another kind of journey
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged emptiness, nest, poem, poetry, staying | 2 Comments
Emptiness so beautiful you want to hold it. Yup, been there.
And your closing line. Yes, it is another type of journey [and migration] to stay.
The description of the nest as a wreath of grass strikes me as a perfect image for its emptiness, a vestige of it as a home, a icon of a season past. “This emptiness, so beautiful I want to hold it.” That line. Nice.
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