No apologies.
Poem for the early mornings.
This morning I stepped out the door stained by sleep and heard a hummingbird, asking – her wings in the barely born sun were the gentlest form of wrestling. How many lives has she saved? I do not know my way forward, or back, or how to move in air and stay upright. Twenty-one crested cranes flew west past my door a thunder of beauty cracking ope…
