Orpingtons

A pair of Orpingtons,

one blue, the other black,

with iridescent necks

and fine, ashen fluff

cackle through the dark,

their damp calls close enough

to chafe, a friction with no spark.

They settle down to roost,

two rests along a stave.

Each curls into itself,

comb tucked beneath a wing,

as the days grow long enough

to kindle in each a yolk,

the smallest flame of spring.