Typhoon season

The birds: they probably knew
eggs hatched this month won’t make it
what with these winds?
Still they fly every morning,
yanking and tugging leaves
as they turn brown, hay-like
and build again, no matter if seven nests
fell in the past two days. (I made a mental note
to take photos of each nest, all wonders of nature
but maybe this will do.)
With it are chicks, unhatched, formless –
cracked shells on the pavement. The yokes glisten,
the whites reflecting the gray sky.
Beside it are nests made out of bamboo leaves
straw-colored, tightly spun like fabric,
fine and wispy like cotton candy.
In it we saw one without eyes,
all soft flesh, opening what amounts to a beak
expectant for food or touch
or warmth in this weather.
All one can do is tuck it in the highest branch
you can reach with tipped toes.
They are more clever and humbling.
They knew this all along, I tell myself –
as they have already learned
to make nests out of anti-bird spikes.
Tomorrow, they will make
new nests.

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