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.