Mining the Bright Birds
“I strain towards the future,
eyes focused on the far away
past empty, quiet gray,
like looking for a hummingbird
in the snow.
I squint at fine twig lines
as they slice across white
over green in front
of the dormant sienna. I
spy her there, a gemstone
stately in her royal stance
among the branches.
It is no effort, truly, to find
my way through buried days,
if I but gentle my busy self,
settle and sit, sip and settle,
determine to welcome the daytime
darkness while mining the bright birds.
