Despair for the world directs me to this silent heronry.
Everything holds together on this tangled staff
Formed with winter-bare branches. Weary sighs, wordless
Groans harmonize alongside whispered prayers on the wind.
Astonished, I watch. Weather-worn, time-tested twig nests
Become whole notes. This minor scale rises, flattening fear,
Calling forth from me, a strange song of praise
for these nests,
and my very breath.