Living like a Bluebird

Bluebird in his azure plumage
sits on a naked garden branch
twittering his lilting melody,
then vanishes like a wisp of smoke.

His absence stains my heart,
when lo, he returns
to the branch now covered
with newly sprouted leaves,
his trilling song as sweet as ever.

Bluebird's pattern is much like me,
you can hear me most mornings
disturbing the air with my shower
singing, but sometimes I travel
to distant places, leaving silence
in my wake, the neighbors wondering
if I've died or merely gone mute.

Then I return, hot water steaming
the windows, my tenor voice rising
above the traffic din, most neighbors
relaxing their shoulders knowing order
has been restored, the woman next door
shaking her head at the cacophony of
my slightly off-kilter notes.