Hummingbird (4)
What overwhelms is the fate
of our breath
moving from one mouth
to the other, a form of
denial flickering by
like the hummingbird,
impossible in flight
but moving despite our logic.
The air
claims no intention. It waits,
and waiting, gives itself to us.
The gift we accept is of ourselves.
“Hummingbird (4)” was written in the 80s, and first appeared here in July 2015.
Not just our physical breath – also the increasingly numerous bursts of electronic energy we spit toward others – knowing not if, how the reception will occur, what might come zinging back toward us, whether that zing will be sufficient to achieve connection … So, yes, we wait (meanwhile further formulating (receiving) our own clarity.
I really like your 80s poems!
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Back and forth, back and forth…
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Humming birds are so neat, I just love to see them zip around. I loved your poem.
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Thank you, Donatello. They are among my favorite birds.
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A goosebump raising read. Right on!
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Thank you, Sarah.
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