All Heaven Is My Brood Poem by Mark Heathcote

A bird is orphaned once it sleeps in the salty breeze.
It's always journeying over foreign territory and seashores.
Even when it's brooding, breeding, or mating,
Its hunger needs must find round moth fat grubs,
Fallen from the sandalwood, summer stokes—smoke.

All her flying is only for falling and plunging. You honour me.
The wind I rest on the bough, the briny - wave of the sea.
All whispers of love I am encamped. I am a captive.
Take me. I am your orphan, your high, brooding one.
My nestlings, my heart has sung! All heaven is my brood.