Bluebirds

Outside for hours this warm weekend.
The sun laps against my aging skin
as I run around the track slowly
and the air is filled with a golden glow
from our star, our trees, our grass.
Bluebirds wait on the fence and then fly,
chirping gently when they take off
and lift by my head into the blue sky.
They look for moisture in the bugs they eat.
They fly mostly for food, or mating
but they extoll the glories of their bodies
in the middle of the air.

I drink a half a gallon of water
and I touch the sharp balance
in the sweet middle
of wet birth and dry death.