the birds and their nest

her two small hands
in the usual arrangement
of fingers and thumbs
and red-lacquered nails
twist and lark like birds
we imagine tonight,
say chickadees or tits,
feathers fluffed in cold
and yet they intertwine
like twigs, the nestlers
and their nest, the object
and its container, or
contents, all the same
all the way down like
the turtle (again)
that holds up the world
is standing on a turtle
(and it’s turtles all the way
down) and then they
are at rest, the open
palms of desire are full
of stars, a map of the sky
on two small hands
now side by side
in a slight curving arrangement
approximating a spherical cap
which is how we see
the sky, a dome instead
of infinite space, because
we live on the surface
of a sphere and see
with our round eyes
just like the fingers
that can be both
the birds and their nest

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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