when the baby finches
on my front door wreath
have flown
and I no longer hear
the cheerful cheeping
and chattering

that particular
morningsong
is gone

although an entire
avian choir
assembles in the trees
before dawn
each day
singing the darkness
away

there comes a time
when I know
the twice-used nest
is too destroyed
and the old wreath
with faded magnolias
is battered
past all hope

there comes a time
when I must take it down
from my seasonal
bird sanctuary
to ceremonially
throw it away
as I did today

thinking about
all the life
that came into being
on this circle
of grapevine
hanging from
a single nail

but I do not grieve

I imagine
dozens of finches
alive in the trees
surrounding

I imagine
they’re a big part
of the dawn choristers
sounding

and I know,
I know
a pair of them
will return
when I put up
a new wreath
next spring

there comes a time
when I finally
clean the porch
where I can sit again
and bask
in my tiny part
of sustaining
fragile feathery life
in this world

and celebrate
being able
to open
my front door
once more

After several springs, the magnolia wreath is no more
but I have a fresh clean door
and this wreath celebrating summer