Restless Spring

The first hummingbird buzzed by
yesterday late ~
fluttered in place
against an airy wake
and sucked the sweetness
I’d put out for her.
Essence

yesterday late
afternoon ~ a brief visit
from an old friend ~
And the ebony crow, too
cawed his thrice warning
about the ache of love,
as he bent a lofty bough
with a scold, then flew away
as shadows fell.
How straight the crow flies.


This morning, a riotous flock
of starlings commune
in the camellia bush.
It’s warm enough
to sit on the porch
in shirt sleeves with a second
cup of coffee and Mary Oliver ~
Our Story, her 40-year conversation
with a lover, her partner, her mate.

My craving for companionship ~
to be with one who understands
me without explanation ~
that craving is at odds
with a seasonal, burgeoning
desire to experience life,
once again, autonomously.

This is my half-story,
always a partial contentment.
I really am trying
to let loneliness and fear
rest from their vigil
over my life.

Today, I accept the silence
from a friend, trust
what is stirring and growing
healing and becoming
in the spring soil.
She has imposed
a silence on me as well,
“Do not write me anymore.”
Heard too much from me
I imagine, my muffled
half of the story.
Why is it we only wish
to hear and tell our stories
from the safe side
our side?

Just now, a pit bull
and its owner walk by.
I hear the innocent
click click of the bull’s nails
on pavement and see only
an easy saunter
in the black man’s gait.