Roost

An occupied robin's nest
balances, perched on
the kitchen's open window.

The parent robins must have searched
for days 
for a perfect spot to build their home,
yet instead of any natural
effortless place
they chose ours.

These birds rely on human kindness—
the last time I did that, it took me
months to settle, and
by the time I did, I 
left again.

The robins went through something similar—
they built a nest twig by twig,
hair by hair, root by root,
until a large settlement with
dangling tendrils lay
on the horizontal glass.
The process must have taken ages;
building a home out of nothing,
giving birth in the open air,
working tirelessly to feed their
screaming children. 

It's been a few days since I last saw the 
robins. 
I believe they left again, moved on
to higher altitudes.
I hope their next home is more stable
than one that could kill their children
with the closing of a window.