The Garden
I am learning
to listen,
to witness
the hummingbird
as he considers
the miniature tenderness
of the moment,
the hollyhock’s stamen.
Darling one,
it is not wing-span,
but the miraculous engine
of his heart
that keeps him
aloft. So, I too,
continue my work,
burying
handfuls of seed
into the open
mouth
of the earth.
I dig my heels
into the fertile mind
of the soil,
releasing
the edges
of my longing,
allowing them to fray.
Perhaps,
one day, I will
release my need
to understand
why
things happen
as they do.
How should I know
why a drop
of green
may or may not
surface,
taking root? Eventually,
precise and
iridescent,
my visitor descends
towards
his one desired destination –
as close as two can get
without
ever touching.
17 Oct 2016
SK
Purified by Fire! (Or not!)