I.

In the dozing morning marsh,

spider hammocks rock in cedars.      

I can almost hear them sway

above bulrush and reed.         

 

Their aquamarine dew drops             

start to glisten in Blue Hour, 

when white moon slips below skyline,          

orange sun ushers in warm light.       

 

Daybreak raises her baton     

to conduct a symphony.                     

A sonata takes flight with      

a red-winged black bird whistle,       

 

II.

and the bright teal kingfisher,            

egret, and marsh wren join in,

bittern expresses kerplunks,  

and “sweet, sweet, sweet” warbler trills.      

 

Blue heron takes the forestage          

to undulate hawks and quacks.          

Wood duck wheezily kazoos.

Limpkins cry through long curved beaks.     

 

The perfect union of chirr,     

and cheep, and whistle, and tweet,

vibrate the sapphire wetland  

in bird overture to sunrise.                 

 

III.

I’ve read, blue chakra, and bluejay,  

symbolize expression, flow—

voices, oceans, rivers, streams,          

inner peace, and the sadness, 

 

of unenlightened humans.      

Across the globe, people toil.

They busy themselves behind            

bioluminescent screens,                     

 

giving no thought to nature,  

prone to shame by ignorance.            

Sometimes it takes guilt to see                      

the teeming world around us.

 

IV.

I think of cobalt oceans,        

and shiny spruce-tinted lakes,

the selfless water sources      

that feed our vibrant wetlands.          

 

Lapis lazuli    

colors this waking marsh,      

sets off a symphony,  

in rich harmonic score,          

 

placing me where I belong    

in this brief window we call  

 

Blue Hour.