The Blue Hour
The jay bird’s forest is dappled and
green-furred. Stones keep time
beneath trees ringed with stories.
Curiosity leads
here. Come cloaked in the blue hour.
Press your face to the moss and speak
your heart’s desire. It will taste of
the sky
that is to say, the sharp-beaked truth
feathered with magic. Life loves
its twilights.
Each indigo moment
has a song worn winged
and gregarious, asking
to know each crevice, every star
in unrepentant blue.