Everything is blurred.
The hot breath of summer
Is just waking, but this freeway
Has been up for hours-
The same as this calling flock
Hiding in branches.
My balcony provides an overpriced
View of this morning routine,
And as I smoke with my coffee
It all starts to just blur.
The trucks and the cars
Fade into quiet, save
The handful of eager
And revving assholes.
I sit here, sipping coffee
Until the last half is cool.
I stare into the mesmerizing
Abyss of freeway & let my mind
Ramble into depths- especially reserved
For this morning meditation (prayer?).
This is the routine.
Today has broken routine.
A bright bird broke the blur,
Flew right through it to perch
Not 10ft. From my no-longer
Glazed eyes. It sat,
With that ever-in-motion
Bird head bobbing.
A small bird, think dainty
Women’s hands with feathers
That erased the cloudless
Blue sky behind them.
Vibrant red, the hue of which
Dainty women walk upon-
Melting seamlessly into a yellow
Truer than ripe lemon.
As this morning beacon bounced
Among the branches, I reached
For my phone.
Only to capture my exact moment
Of regret.- a short feathered tail,
Blurring a neon streak through
The leaves. I tarnished
Those few moments
Which should have been worship;
The flutter of wings the closing
Of a prayer, a wave goodbye.
This letter (poem?) is an apology
To the morning, in her grace.
The memory of whom
I have tainted for a grainy
Photograph.
I’ll remember this when
I delete that picture.