The flat grey sky ribboned its blue goodbye. Low on the west horizon, it silvered breaches like a scrub jay with a bite of cracked corn. The jay tilted his head to earth, into a crevasse of grass-caked dirt. A shadow separated his shoulder from back, mantle from scapular, where a yoke would be at home and I longed to scratch this seam. To find downy quills both soft and hard beneath my fingers. To sink into the eye of one who knows silver and gold and deep, deep blue.
* * *
I like to think of my little prose poem as something borrowed, something blue.
Best wishes to the newlyweds.