Belongs There

One time I found a bird’s nest on the ground, 
on the edge of a lawn, empty as that
wine bottle I promised you I’d fill with
wild berries and even wilder flowers. 
Since no bird called it home, I took it home. 
It sits on my desk, and it belongs there
like a finch on a phone wire, like the wine
on my carpet, soaked into the red threads.