The scent intoxicates

The smell of life

In every bit of breath

I gulp

I hover

In the garden

It’s all Yellows

and Reds

Purples and Greens

Leaves and Petals

No place to land

I flit in



My wings caress the wind

My movements blur

Before I feel the softness

On my cheek

It’s not enough

It never is

Each flower feels empty

Despite the blooms

and the abundance of


I never land

Dizzying kaleidoscopes

of fractured rays of light

bounce in every polychromatic

Expression of

Open spaces

And when Spring ends will the

Culmination of Summer follow

Bringing with it the message

of impending death?

And Autumn’s harbinger

will taunt me with coldness

Freeze my wings in the

Winter of my discontented sighs.

With no safe place to land

I fall from that lofty place

I’ve imagined for myself, only to land

In a bed of dead leaves

And sorrow.

Under which is my grave.

Where do hummingbirds go to die?


One Reply to “8.9.10”

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