Film set blue

It's easy to forget sometimes
some simple pleasures:
the way the morning sun makes
skeletons of shadows
long limbed and sharp as knives
on pavements,
dots of
blossom too.
A jay's call, shrieking against a sky
so blue
it could be fake:
a film set blue,
perhaps a token scudding cloud.
The glint of morning sun
on an open window
bounces life back into your eyes:
remember how that feels?
More birds sing,
more traffic roams,
more gates clang against their posts as
people get to work.
Morning sounds no longer deadened by the
muffled darkness,
no,
but clear as bells that strike in time
as you walk
a rising clarity in your head -
the world could start to burn,
hell, it might already,
and still
the jay would sing.