organic

to the playground with dog and daughter
dusk on its gray-day soft falling
we have not been speaking, much

the young dog balking at her leash
we try volleyball with two then three
move on so my eye is caught
by the bird nest, how it grows snug
over and around its branches

a labor of instinct no less than love
to withstand even yesterday’s storm
and certainly tomorrow’s—a thing crafted
stick by stick, thread by thread
has no good reason to fail in any season

makes a habit of staying past resentment
of being patched again by smile and sun
deferring to earthbound need