The Blue Jay

My boys will look
at a Blue jay
and turn to the coloring page
and, choosing the yellow crayon,
go to town on the bird before them.

They call it a “blue jay,”
but it is canary yellow.

And instead of saying, “that’s wrong,”
which is my instinct,
my training by a world
that thinks in boxes…
(like damned auto-correct for the
creative heart)

I’m now just jealous.

Of that kind of insight.

The kind of insight that can see
what is
and riff on it like a jazz player.

The kind of insight that can make
a new world
using bits and pieces
of this one.