The Birdhouse in the Jungle
       

                                                        The sky black with swans
casts the shadow of a hunter

                              over one flecked egg flushed from bramble.

                Nature makes mistakes:

                                                        my siblings and I playing orphan

                              in the wilds we built with plastic.

What we witnessed of the world was a cloak

                                                                                              cut, sewn,
                                                then fashioned into tinier envies.

                              In the unkennelled cold,
a bird's song

                                                          splatters against moist leaves
                its lyric out of sync
                                              with melody.

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Copyright © 2018 Diana Khoi Nguyen All rights reserved
from Ghost Of
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission