Trees and road markings,
black asphalt,
branches reach out and hold hands,
a pylon of arching twigs.
Shimmering blue sky,
with added silver,
dreaming of spring days.
If I look closely?
I see slitted pupils,
in great round eyes,
the hat metamorphoses
into a black beak?
Gold, black and blue,
brightly hued,
your cages of twigs,
snare birds who
nest in warm romance.