After the thunder, lightning and rain
the sky split open. Her skin, under
her gray long coat was the color of ice,
so blue it almost hurts the eyes. Cool
moist blue, the skin of the sky.
As my heart danced with my eyes
someone illuminated the village
in warm yellows. The fir had on wet
earrings. The wisteria curled down to
mounds winter leaves, pile upon pile
of dead voices, neat-looking
in their wild arrangement.
A darting brown gold and orange coat,
small and tight-fitting on a lady bird
by the roots of the crooked tree. Chased
away by her mate, she disappeared
and in her place the boy in feathers
wearing a ruby scarf around his neck.
He lay by the roots and was silent
while I stole his image. He was soft
and full of pride but egoless.
They have flown into the yellow light
and the belly of the sky
and now all the branches are still,
breathing in unison,
even the stones which were silent
stir in their own time.
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