You are nested there
between Gotham and pine barrens,
salt marshes and palisades, in the shadow
of the great steel lattice of cables and beams,
on the edge of the forest of your hatching place.
You sing sweetly in the silvery glow of moonlight
and conjure memories of bright plumage
and the flutter of urgent wing beats,
of the breathtaking first flight
of fledgéd love.