A bright blue bird
from a dis­tant tree
flies into my house.
When it flies out, it leaves behind
its bright blue.

The blue hops down
becomes first one word,
and then, another,
till final­ly, it assumes the face of a poem.

Before long, the floor is an upside down blue sky
and the blue of the poem has made its way
into my ink filler,
into my notebook.
 

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