Cold April
waving the flyswatter at the blue jay
that’s harassing the robin at her nest
she has worked too hard for this
I’ve watched the tight spiral of her nest
grow from a handful of yellow grass clippings
shreds of newspaper and free-hanging
lengths of hay long blond hairs floating in the breeze
clumps of gray fur flattened like render
it’s too high up for me to see
what’s inside but she’s there every cold April morning
and dusk giving it her body’s warmth
watching with a noiseless animal patience
as the light moves
the light never stops moving