HUNTERS AND LOVERS II

Somewhere beyond zero,
a morning is blue
air, blue ice, and bluebirds
leaping through
the branches of round-leaved holly,
passionate for its night
blue fruit.

In the flock
some dare sky to be
such color,
others, like the weather,
wear clouds on their shoulders.
Bluebirds,
who later this year will
crowd nests with skies
full of eggs.

Wherever they are, they are
hunters who stay alive like this,
even as the red-tailed hawk with its high
sweet voice,
with its claws, and its vestal mice.

This time in the year
they're a wind.
Blue breathing warm,
and tangible.
Where they are
the world doesn't end.

~ Judith Neeld