The blue-bird

It’s the blue-bird again,
Flying out of my mouth.
It came off an enamelled
Silver carving on a ring.
It came from imaginings.
It’s the blue-bird again.
Some hunter in the forest
Has got his hand on
The blow to trigger.
It’s the blue-bird again,
That thing all feathery
And fluttering, taking in
Many blues and many
Bird-like shapes, even,
As I pick up a feather
From the forest floor,
I recognise where it came from.
I put it back on the ground
Because I don’t want to be
Accused of hunting the blue-bird.
I don’t want to be accused
Of trying to extract its essence
Of flight and colour.
I don’t want to be accused
Of stealing its beak.
I’m not even hunting,
I’m not even watching out,
The blue-bird just appears,
Crosses my path, when it does,
And takes me by surprise.

Initially NO (Victoria)
From Initially NO's book Riotous favour (2013)

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