camouflage

Morning Rounds

senses cocked
in stillness
until the pounce

part of the landscape
player in the cycle of life
hawk’s hunting perch

the golden glow of sunlit dill
a perfect camouflage
for feasting finch

wearing the colors
of your surrounds
your spirit flashes through

sticky snow
camouflages
every tree as white birch

camouflaged yet
they always
reveal themselves

cloisonne’d wings
on an
all green being

like a shadow
of old oxblood
clapboard

unexpected warmth
a shaft of light
the robin’s table set

leopard spots
zebra stripes
camouflage of ice

a monk of a moth
in birch bark robes
prostrate in prayer

on the pebble path
a pause
to merge and rest

hide
in plain sight

Not even your magnificent camouflage
can obscure your vibrant alive-ness.