Nesting Code

 

Let loose the cassette guts

brown and unwinding in the wind

they spiral from the tenth floor,

a magnetic transcription

grips small buds of winter trees.

 

The answering machine

scratches an overly rehearsed --

Hello.

 

(In quest of sand and bubbles

sharpening the first name

power from innocence in darkness

“tree frogs sing moon,”

my son tells me.)

 

In early spring sparrows weave

reflective nests of the code

of words.