Blue Jay and Something Else
The blue jay’s all false sky. He stays prinked on the branch, a stuck announcement that the sky is happening. He lays for the cat. I steep oolong tea as your hand used to dip at the neck of a Gibson acoustic, tune complicated by a couple notes left in the sound hole. A dropped pick still lodges in there. The cat’s whiskers resonate with watching. Blameless cat: neither sharp nor flat, bristles trembling with each brief thrill. Until the sky needs a lesson for the umpteenth time, and the jay throws himself into the real. And how the sky must feel at the tip of that wing’s feather. And how the whiskers must track it. 
Blue Jay and Something Else
From a Place Other than the Lake
If Never the Why than at Least the How
Tender