Bluebird

The bluebird wings its way to a high branch
Of the white pine that stands beside the driveway

Together we take in the sunrise over Mount Philo


During my meditation 
I am upon the branch with the Bluebird
Swinging my legs to my breath

The Bluebird is my father
I wish the boys knew more than his memory

The Bluebird morphs into a tattoo upon my shoulder
Like the song
One of my father’s favorites

I return to my breath 
and the knowledge 
That my father is always here