I Am A Goldfinch

Kristen Lenea Ryberg

I am a Goldfinch in a rowboat
26 days old, wearing a blue beret
my shiny round black eyes, merrymaking eyes
surrounded by feathers laid in tiny waves.

A free-dancing giraffe is my companion
his long neck sways to Stairway to Heaven.
We sit on mother of pearl chairs
designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

 Turquoise, violet crystals glitter in atmosphere
 of unknowable gauze shore.
 We whisper to clouds in this un-native sea
 my heart beats like an island in infinity.

  I am the DNA of lime-leaf sharp-citrus-green
  of bergamot honeysuckle vines
  the sandpaper tickle of cat's-licking-tongue
  and pussy willow ears
  I am green again and again
  I am meadowshine.

  I am a clear brook's unedited lullaby
  and I am square wet pink mouth of the white cow
  methodically tearing grass
  jaw, idly grinding, ears and tail
  independently swishing flies.

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