Of The Finch

I saw a finch yesterday

The lemon lime signature

That danced upon the old fence

And sang as though it were a toddler.

The bold statement of its wings

That wear the accidental color

Of child’s coloring book

Yellow where black was meant to go

But the Crayolas are indifferent

To the naïve artist

And the world is a sanctuary

To the naïve bird

 

I saw a finch yesterday

The weightless, boundless, aimless

Energy of the thing

Seemed to illuminate the air around it

In a playful sour aura

Again I see a finch today

The lemon lime signature

Worn like a late autumn flower-

No songs leave its closed throat

No skips, no flutters or dances

Upon the blades of saw tooth grass

The black seeps in where the yellow

Is meant to go

And the world closes in and seals off

To the childish bird