There's a birds nest outside my window,
a bright white ribbon woven into it.
The tail of the ribbon is dancing in the barely present wind.
The scene takes place in a barren tree,
ravaged by the harsh cold of autumn.
I see it all from the open window of my room,
looking out through the metal screen,
where a tiny insect climbs nimbly up the outside.
Some old lo-fi recording of a jazz tune is playing,
and I wonder what she's doing right now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.