Hipper than thou,
the bluejay abides.

Easier on the eyes
than a corduroy jacket.

Far better racket
than vampire ukelele.

That bluejay calls daily
from low in the hedge

by the granite ledge
in the back yard, son.

Loud as a cannon.
Man, I like that music — 

hipper than yours, it
makes things happen.

Just breathe, 
see what rises from that:
no need to speak.

Can you even observe it
long enough
without speaking of it?

I do not understand
how it is that you cannot see
what you carry in your breathing:

the wave of the world, how it
moves, how it doesn’t fail ever.
How we are a wave,

even when
we do not see it,
feel it, know it’s there.