Refusal

From my corner
I watch you build your house
from debris;
a receipt from Grandpa's whiskey,
Dad's lost stamp,
God's robe,
Godzilla's left foot.
You spot my love letter
and use the "forever yours."
The prayer flag will bring blessings.
But something is missing
to tie it all together.
A rope;
or at least a piece of it
to hang your history.
It's mine, too.
Your entire nest is mine,
but my feet are too big to take refuge.
Refuse my own blood, I'll join you,
solitary bird.
Threatened with extinction
our baptism
will set us free.
(And leave the nest behind,
it's nothing but the corner of the world.)