I'm so loving Eric Gamalinda

Letters to Theo

On another day
I found a bird's nest
and brought it back to my studio.
For days it sat at my window,
and the sun and the wind
nourished it as though
the nest itself were still capable
of nourishing.

A week later it began to unravel,
the twig frame coming apart
to reveal hidden fiber,
a bed of leaves, the patterns
of weaving. The more I tried to fix it
the more it fell apart,
and so I left it alone to fulfill
its inevitable decay.

And all the questions one would expect
from this experience came to mind:
Who had lived there?
Do their memories contain
lost sunlight, and this softness?
Do they leave to let things
fall apart? And how can I save them,
when they never come back?

Source: Zero Gravity