Remnants of a Broken Home

It must be from a nest
of birds. That leaf, all
tangled in thread-like matting.
Not just any fallen, dried-
up dead thing, but one
used up: tattered, vein-
bare; a leaf that has seen
many, many things: loved, birthed,
hatched and shat upon.

Tangled in hair and fibers
by a sparrow (plenty hereabouts)
that wanted nothing more
than a soft place, a comfort
place to nest,
raise young to fly,
grow old, flightless, and die;
now just a leaf. Tangled
in fur and hair rattling
along with the breeze
on the sidewalk.