Awake Now
from a gloomy hibernation,
I notice columbine in bloom
and last year’s barren apple tree
bearing spurs. Anna’s hummingbird
flits merely feet away from me ~
her name is Joy.
She was, all winter, an always
presence of possibility,
but my eyes were closed, my mind shut
to her iridescent green crown,
ruby-throated chirping contrast
to my gray song.
Today, following a season
of black, I wear scarlet again,
the red that attracts her to me,
beating vehemently between
honeysuckle and apple trees.
The hummingbird
in crimson pursuit, reminds me
of my power to fly backward
or forward, or to just flutter
my wings in place, pollinating
and consuming all the honey
nectar of now.
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