Corner of the eye, fine point, “stylus” –
I saw bird shadows, wings, feathered mileage,
flying up to the roof’s corner, the edge.
Why are the Starlings dancing on my ledge?
Shuffling through this House of Cards,
I found the small hole, a discrete hiding
— They’re building a nest, Yippee, Hooray! –
A Starling yanked at the grass, a shyness
in its movements as it carries
“thread” in its beak back
to the hole to build the nest.
Sounds of Silence;
Otherwise they’ll leave.
So I remain mute
In my ecstasy