Blue's New Spring

That morning, a lonely jay
flitted between bare branches,
as I sipped black coffee
and admired the new skies and buds.
His feet and beak bounced back
between each spring twig bursting
with the earliest life
anyone had seen that year.

The leafless newness came on quick,
as only a rustle gave the bird to my eyes,
and as often as I saw him fly,
he rested perched in calm, unaware
of how Spring and I extolled his quiet race.

I don't know what it is about blue birds,
whether their feathers or breathy colors,
but something cold, arrested in my chest,
was thawed and replaced with a flame,
as I spotted a blue jay early,
on that Springtime April day.