Mail Run
Our mailbox lies above, in pasture
Where the gravel meets the traveled blacktop.
There, in full sun a song enraptures
From the bluebird atop the fencepost.
My vagrant Canadian clubcar
Returns from field to deep woods below
Where dark shadows make a world bizarre
With another bird of deepest blue.
His hidden song is sweeter by far.
A flash of vivid electric blue!
Changes quickly back to dark as tar
As I head home in shade and silence.
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