My shadow has no calories,
so I peel it off the front porch
and pour it in my coffee cup.
You say it can’t be done?
I just did it,
vibrantly.
It peers at me
like the unsettled pupil
of a great bird.
Lights out and shadow springs
from all corners —
an erotic sovereign
of the nightsweats.
Which of us is who then?
But now is just plain now,
all around the universe,
so who is that naked
on my roof again?
Orpheus Bluejay! — you blurred bird.
We hear the surround-sound
of your beedle-beedle, your tulili,
but where is your rakish sky-blue beret?
Where your exotic North Woods eyeliner?
Where your wings, beak and grabby black birdfeet?
Your look’s askance
when
your look’s direct,
and in the name of the euphoria
that opens and fills the hole in our soul
your bluejay blue gems
will not lock-in.
Perch close, perch in the air, if you must,
but endow us with your cadenza
… … … … … …
And may all our days be wing’d animation,
and all our nights a heavy levitation.
Steve Elder is in charge of Tea Service at the University of Colorado Law Library.
