Curiously the day begins without you.

Not in a sudden fit of forgetfulness,

but in the way a robin leaves her eggs

and never comes back. You know

how the bird feels. To wait and stare

out into the weather. The men washing

windows on the skyscraper. Glistening

river held static by hand-drawn shores,

as if the scene below contains just enough

to be defined in shape. You know this to be true.

Shortly, a nurse rolls in this afternoon’s

supply of antipsychotics. The colors shine

in angles that catch the speckled blue outside.

And their roundness almost seems comical.

The cart rolls back out, without a second

glance. In the calm you glance outside.

This nest is quite scraggly. A heavy gust

would push it over. You wonder how eggs

look on pavement. If the window washers

would notice any splash back of yellow.

You know that if the mother comes back

these birds could live. Full, uncomplicated

lives. You think of how brave it would be

to bring this collection of abandonment

inside. To care and love for something that

will never be your own. And when it does

succeed, watch their little wings fly away.

Just as you crank the side window open

a bird flies by and you retract your hand.

The medicine cart rolls back in and out.

Overhead sunset is taking place.