Bluebird
The gray pine for such a day:
auspicious slopes of April,
sun seeds sprout on icy morning crust,
lift chairs ride a baby blue sky,
garnished with chromatic gear;
temperatures rise and skin emerges
for that exquisite hour
when sweet turns fling crystal spray
and link seamlessly downhill,
a soft cushion forgiving any lapse.
Too soon the snow gives way
to ski-grabbing slush and the
temperate deck draws a crowd
that vainly sips from mugs of beer;
behind them a circling eagle
flies out of sight on the edge
of the mountain’s shadow.
From Rejuvenilia
