Drunk as a Hummingberd
Beak-deep in Hibiscus

Imbibing your aroma through
Every pore and Feathered follicle

he called from the edge
of a cliff
             “look to the stars”

a peach pit
or plum stem
in orbit

adrift

he thinks
about
being forgotten

in the garden
overgrown
no chemical
in the memory

and the room
is more open now
halved
with nectar
dripping

the cosmos
exposed
and he
enters
through the
stone
of a
lychee

winter slowly digests me
it's hard to process
standing in the spaces
between the void of pain and
the void of ecstasy
(any void is just the unbearability
of fullness)
no violin can invent
some tears
my eyes not split
searching for
a tree-womb
to shelter my skin
and slow my cells
to the decency
of breathing,
to unearth
the old tale
gently
like an offering

a shy sunrise over the hills
the quietness of frozen earth
dead leaves blessed with crystal
delicate magic
pine trees, white fir trees,
like untouchable heights
of my garden
the cherry tree dreaming
of cherries and the birds
in the sky
and my heart cracked opened
by the crisp wonder
of a winter spirit