You weave through the sky with the finest thread
Invisible but to the stone
of deep-down knowing
Stitching and restitching
the ripped seam
of the frayed, worn world
For we have torn the hem
without a thought of what awaits
in the warm dark
within small bright eggs
in the soft cup of your nest
Still, with such fine music you mend the air
With such care you tend the sky
As though tending might still yet matter
I close my eyes and wait for you
To alight on a perch so long unoccupied
Longing for your furious wings to beat inside
And stoke cold embers and coax what fire ignites
So that I might navigate this starless night
Let me join you in the mending of the broken world
Not knowing if the stitches will hold
Sewing, with still so much undone
To make a place for you and all your kin
There, on the branch, your plumage bright
With the fire of the rising sun
You sing it up from the great ribbed mountain
And leap into the waiting dawn
With the invisible thread of hope
hitched to the curve of your wing
Richard J. Nevle is the Deputy Director of Stanford University’s Earth Systems Program, where he is devoted to the intellectual formation of the next generation of environmental problem solvers.
Art by Maya Adams
This article first appeared in the print edition of Anthroposphere Issue V.
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