Tuesday, April 8, 2008

oriole tango

humming now and then 
knowing that my prayers are heard and answered
the oriole sounds like the percussion instrument
I was given for Chirstmas one year,  it disappeared
too noisy, too ratchety, rr-rrr, rr-rrr, rr-rrrr

looking out my poets' window, over suds and dishes
I see a dance unfold on the branch above the bluebird box 
black tail fanned wide, two steps forward 
two back, he is the color of flames 
she does the same, turns her back
fans her beautiful less than black tail, watching
over her shoulder, two steps forward

they dart away, chasing their dance to heights
far up in the budding maple, the warm colors
blending orange, yellow and sparking white 
maple and birds wildly moving below blue blue
sky, I want to sing their song
dance that aerial dance, wear slick
hot colors and skip the dishes


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