I come down from my dreams
to the hard-assed, working class
jay at my window, staring with one eye
then the other,
up since the sad glance of dawn,
blowing blue through the trees
shooting her mouth off
in search of breakfast
for the babies.
And at last the fool
appears and jay says, God
opened its eye at five sharp.
My childrens’ beaks are wide.
What bits of your life will you give up
this time to renew your soul?