A Poem: Nests

Ah, we must make nests.
Life is a bare limbed branch
through which the winds move,

or a flute hollowed out for music,
or a ravine, open at each end,
that the wind finds its singing voice.

Yes, life,
in its various stages of undress,
is as a tree exposed to the elements,

or a horse unbroken,
resisting the taming,
or the directing.

Yes, life is loose, as leaves undone in a tempest,
that we are to make nests for ourselves,
and not live exposed.

But with gifted tools,
and materials made for weaving –
like the birds,

who know what to do
though they’ve hardly been taught –
we’re to build with our hands

small abodes for living,
and make a home in the wind,
though it blow without ceasing.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
November 2019

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