no blue eggs

the accentuated shadows under my south window
were of her eyes.

her fragrance was palpable.

the chickadees would sing as they drank
before flying,
but no figure could be seen.

she was alive and present at that moment
in my imagination,
but what an expression she gave
to the excited gray squirrels.

with her mystery unsolved,
in spite of the straight classical nose
which framed her face,
the red headed woodpecker tapped insistently at my suet.

her sinuous lips at breakfast
could eat a cereal bowl full of serenity,
and still kiss the sun before dawn.

in my early morning studio,
while sitting on an upholstered chair
without decoration,
her mind and body seemed as one.

then our shared laugh became the brush with which
we could paint.

my big black cat went outside looking for winter birds
and found her hair, spun into a beautiful nest.

though there were no round blue eggs inside,
he began to purr.