I’d forgotten they were there
a world of them flitting through air
with jade and sapphire wings at their side
unshaken when two worlds collide.
Unnoticed when the tangled roots are spry,
their nests don’t seem quite so high
for a coyote or even a fox to spare
yet still I’ve found, they’re always there.
And when those twisted vines do drop their spring,
when there’s little green on which to cling
their brilliant feathers spread and swing
and bluebirds in the alder sing.