Nesting

Beneath the bridge, swallows mold the mask

of a woman’s face,

clustering mud and tufts of hair dredged up

from a ditch,

leaving an interruption large enough to enter,

to spit wings,

which is an odd way to invoke annunciation,

a sudden blow.

The bones are narrow, so the birds take turns.

When it’s over,

                           the ground below whitens.

“Nesting” first appeared in Black Warrior Review, 33:2.