Tell me the count of twigs and horsehairs
that robin wove to make her three-chick lair,
and the volume of her song at dawn.

When muscle birthed those hatchlings,
she cleaned them of their fecal sacs,
and soothed them in the early dew.

Did dew nourish both body and soul?
What attachment has she?

My daughter’s young child looks up,
a sudden awakening of instinct—
as primal as the one above.

Of our shared offspring, I tally the love.