State Of Grace

state of grace

not really an english wren
he hops on long legs
toward my threadbare trousers
I am the length of King Island
tall, beached on a rock
with ankles that gawk
out of broken hems
silent
against his blue head as he
darts
pecks nips snips
strand by strand of pants
to build their nest near
my body
so gifted by his trust.

*King Island is off the coast of Tasmania in Australia