A Nest For Helen Poem by Bill Grace

Bird nest
found upon the ground,
incarnate, honest
delicate wires of hair, paper, grass
the opposite of a Mussolini speech.

Finding it I wondered
if there is an antidote
to tragedy
that is sound.

Tragedy that stalks the universe
of great and small
informs our need for storm sails
on our ship
for days that are not fair
cutting the giddiness of full sails
and light ballast.

We know there is storm ahead
a task in trying to be
prepared
for that which is not yet
upon us.

Hope
that, that thing setting us free
is both with
and greater
than the moment.