Monday Poem

Blue under Blue
Jim Culleny

We were sitting on a bench under blue
under the bush of a willow admiring her garden when
I saw an Indigo Bunting but didn’t know it when I did.

Look, I said,
a bluebird on the wall!

No, the fabulous near-turquoise of it,
its deep and tiny beyond-blueness makes it
an Indigo Bunting,
she said, if it’s
anything at all.

It hopped, mysterious as one of the angels some say exist
and took off fluttering more beautifully than
the idea of fluttering

fluttering for real

took off into wisteria
like the idea of flying
(cubed at least).

Who thought that up, the flying?
-not to mention the wisteria,

I said. Truth is

that’s what we were both feeling
just then, seeing an Indigo Bunting
so blue under blue under willow
from our bench.