No nest in sight, I find a jewel box
and soften it with grass to lay the hatchling in.

Wildlife Rescue sends me home
with two of them.

“Give them a drop or two of sugar water
every half an hour, all day long.”

Reverberating with their mute desire to live,
I feed and feed,

but I, no mother bird, grow tired,
as if my dearest love has died,

and I, exhausted,
can’t continue giving breath.

A pot of orchids put to pasture in the garden
somehow blooms in March,

surrounded by bright spikes of something red.
It’s raining now, revivifying reservoirs and streams.

Someone else will save the nestlings
in another home— a place with songbirds, passerines

all flying in and out of open cages,
feathers floating through the living room,

a wild birds’ haven, heaven.

Note: Title is taken from “Heaven-Haven”, a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins