BRIGHT FEATHERS MUST RISE SWIFTLY
Morning chill,
triangles of yellow
on the rug, shifting
there beyond the chair, placed
just so, closing the shape of light
in this mating dance of earth
and sun. Perfection carries
the curse of relativity. Wonder at
the absolute, as in such beauty
hiding: Jungle-cautious bird
of paradise, fully in his feathers,
blue on black, a fatal iridescence,
drawing tribal man, his only predator,
to slaughter for his mimic rites.
How the bird displays!
A fanning spread of filmy blue,
an undulating dance, a courting,
irresistible, even as the female
circles, eyeing for selection’s sake.
A moment grounded, then soaring,
holy, above the reach of arrows’ kill.
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