Blue jay language is aluminum hollow vibrato,
silver in sheen,
glinting on angles of the tongue,
blinding under midday sun,
a double helix of chain link with sharpened barbs that scratch and pierce at the atmosphere’s tunneled walls,
infinite in spiral,
reabsorbing into itself,
before reaching an angora soft demise in wisps of radiated November earthen warmth,
one jay heaves gold,
fluid falls of gilded thread running the length of a towering sycamore,
such hue to a language fleeting,
as flames extinguished under heavy black boots concealing a light foot,
my mouth vacant of words,
welcomes the misdirection of a lady beetle,
the red of her armor green on my tongue as I taste her flight…
E.A. O'Connell
