mockingbird

I see him through a buttonhole of blue

as I cross the parking lot, up there on

a pinnacle perch on a lone dead branch

of spidery sticks above the lush green

canopy of the old-soldier maple I know

so well.  Who but a mockingbird true

to form with a tape-loop medley of all

other birdsongs, adding a dash of finesse

with a vaudevillian set of leaps and wing-

flaps topped off with airborne turn-arounds.

He breaks the spell and loosens the grip of

ruminations running as dark as they please

in my head on waking this morning.  I chuckle

out loud as I stand there entranced by it all,

this performance meant for a mockingbird

lady in another tree, though today it may also

be meant to be an unexpected gift for me.