With a heavy sigh, I go to bed at night, laying down to finally rest,
Just to awake in my personal heaven, a realm of sweetness and bliss,
Flowers of all kinds, trees with angel trumpets bound to golden chain,
As the lilies are touched by a soft breeze, giving off their nice scent,
I spirit away to purely engage and sympathize with other but pure fury or the sadness which has been sealed within my heart since then,
Snowdrops and buttercups form a way to a single jasmine near a river of the purest water, which is alike a shining star, majesticly sparkling,
The sky is starlit, each in their orbit whilst the golden light of the sun still reaches through, warming my cold skin comfortingly, delicately,
Taking a seat I glance at what the table has presented before my eyes,
Sweets, with sour yet aromatised orange juice anda large cheesecake,
Then, suddenly, a single seagull draws near, weeping for affection,
Together with bunnies and bumblebees buzzing around the flowers,
Even now all the hummingbirds harmonise in a soft orchestra,
And no frightened creature cries, they draw together in happiness,
Yet I feel the absence of something which I hold very dear to me,
Because you my dear lover, remain as my sweetest dream

~ Umi

For what does the hummingbird weep?
For the lost and forsaken souls?
For the trepidation of mortals?
For the embers of brisk passion?
For the lashes of the night warden's whip?
For the eternal brace of hurt?
For the rantings of a madman?

Or is what the hummingbird weeps for not of this nature?
Could it be that the nature is of a nature from which nature's motherly embrace accepts?

Could the hummingbird weep for the mild tranquility of said mother's embrace?
Or for the warm glow of a homely flame?
Or for the amber shine of dancing stones?
Or for the soft brush of lovers' lips?
Or for the faint cry of a newborn in the arms of such lovers?
Or for the quiet persistence of solidarity?
Or for the peace of acquainting serenity?

Truly, the gentle tears of the hummingbird
Are born of a passion true to mine own
For these gentle tears of the hummingbird
Are the same as the trails of ink that roll off my page

My summer garden
enchants everyone
who looks upon,
O' beautiful blooms
of fragile beauties
in striking colors,
A vine of trumpets
alluring pink flowers
with a hidden interior
of bright sunshine,
And some hibiscus
in exotic tangerine
with tongues adorned
in tiny yellow beads,
And some geraniums
in passionate hot pink,
So this summers day
I'm sitting amongst
those lovely flowers
untangling my hair
When a little creature
of mythology flew past
And very fast actually
seconds later returning
Tiny wings fluttering,
fluttering and fluttering
a hundred miles an hour
Yet, suspended there
admiring a geranium
A passionate hot pink
And so close, so, so close
looking at me, and says,
"Your flowers, I do admire"
And then quickly flew away
"Oh, little hummingbird,
Sweet little hummingbird
Will you return someday?"

The moon over Rio
is upside down for someone who's only
ever given it thought from New England,
so while in Rio
I hang myself upside down
like a perching fruit bat
before it goes on its nightly
raid of Senhora de Andrade's hummingbird feeder.

I hang myself upside down
to see the moon as I'm used to it
and the blood flows to my head
accompanied by Gal Costa
and I right myself
return to  my senses
and hope that the local kilo restaurant
is still serving, otherwise
it's hummingbird nectar tonight.

Some days
the wind blows in
gentle massaging gusts

Today a temporary
wisp rushes
through the tall
oak leaf hydrangea
pushing the brown and green
branches dressed for August
to wave at me through the window

Saying no more
it dances away
like a ruby throated
hummingbird seeking
it's nectar