Not one Steller’s jay
(or, as sometimes in the past,
with an elusive mate)
but a multitude—
the mock-orange tree filled
with jays.

The first bold jay
comes to the porch railing
where my daughter
has carefully laid out
bits of broken bread.

It's the blue of the bird
on this winter day
makes it an ultramarine
offering:
the mariner's blue
of sea and sky
on a landlocked morning.

Yes, "bluer than delphinium,"
bluer than the iris
whose blue I can't fathom—
as blue as the lapis eyes
in an ancient statue.

And it's not the sound
of the singing
(as with Keats' nightingale)
but the vision
of that colour blue
that leads me upward to the sky—

to that breaking point of blue
hidden behind winter clouds.

Copyright by Carolyn Zonailo: www.carolynzonailo.com, 2004