Morning comes in awash
with sunlight the color of apples.
A bluejay banging away at the window
with a need to build her nest,
searches for a place to call home,
not remembering from day to day
that the window is still there.
Still, she comes
trying to find a way in.
Even if she could,
her chances are no better
today than yesterday.
Her instinct surely guides her,
and when she finds the right spot,
she'll know her need, while I
continue to stare out this window,
making no move at all.
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