A heavy nest

The neck, holding our chin up.

Bending down over the weight of our brainstorms.

Up where heavy rains have disrobed

the naked shoulders of high hopes.

Where the rough sea of ideas

cycles over the rise and the falls.

Such a heavy nest- our head,

bent branches, hair and sweat.

We keep it from hitting the ground.

We interlace fingers, core deep-

a heavy crown.

 We also learn in time,

not to mess with it

 too much around.

Our nests, where ideas are hatched.

Helpless, fragile but loud.

We are meticulously  selective parents

Some we do keep,

others we let hit the ground.

21.03.24