Nesting


I am afraid to turn on my air conditioner.
For two years now,
Two little brown sparrows
Have built a nest
Underneath it on the window ledge.

I hear them come and go,
Their familiar flutter
Talon grab and beak bump.
I wonder what they hear of me?

We sometimes surprise each other
In unexpected sightings
Like yesterday
When
With a beak full of straw
One of them stopped short
As I,
Leaning over to pick up a book
Came beak to nose abruptly
Staring into respective eyes
Caught in the act of daily living
Feathering our nests
With nothing but a pane of glass
Between us.

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