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The Bumblebee Bird
    forJamie
The last day of his visit, you drive
your son through mountains of magpie,
juniper and lupine when a black and gold bird,
scarlet-capped, signals you to stop.
You could become roadkill, hopping
from the car where there's no shoulder,
on a curve sharp as the bird's colors.
But you two have known too many seasons
of depression's dark wings coming for him,
too few of following a single beauty.
And now you fear you won't see it,
that it's flitted away like too many wishes.
Suddenly, the cottonwood opens her hands,
a sorceress delighted by her own trick,
releases the bird that vanishes again
behind the scrim of leaves, reappearing now
and now and now until it seems
there is no end to hoping.
Back at the cabin you still need to find it
in your book, as though saying western tanager,
you'll taste again its magic colors,
and something in you will be released.
Your son sticks to the name he dubbed it.
But there is no argument between you-
only two names for that startled recognition,
for this one love.
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