To the Robin Building a Nest in My Eavestrough

how many times are you going
to make me take this down,
this aggregation of dried grasses
and leaves from last year’s flowers
that you keep assembling
with such painstaking diligence?

I know it looks dry and sheltered,
this spot in the eavestrough
under the back deck’s roof
but once it rains, you’ll find
it’s a different story and because
I don’t want to see your nest

washed away in the floods,
I’ll keep dis-assembling your building
efforts, no matter how often
you try—don’t give me
that smug look, as though
ignoring impending tragedy

were some kind of virtue,
maybe the day will come we both
wish for somewhere high and dry
to retreat to, once the melting glaciers 
finish unloading their burden
into the seas


What are you looking for?