Migration of the Hummingbirds
What you have heard is most certainly true:
Others fell in sure and certain hope,
but like mine before me, I am a violetear.
When our world wilted, we took firm flight
Mars red, zirkon yellow, scuba blue,
in topaz dazzle and indigo thrill.
Awash with blush, and sedulous
we flew on streams, Durban bound,
flitting over antipodean green land
chimera brained, our gorgets plumed,
of Rhodesian, Irish, Scottish descent,
we landed in the bowls of Saskatchewan.
In vibrant flight paths of Coriolis,
we flew from Torpor in circadian thread.
Language burst in our throats, in charm and thrall,
and some of us even chanted as poets.
We gulped In the gyres of new found cultures
Squinting into the smog which swallowed the sun,
but Kaleidoscopes chirped in our ruby syrinx throats,
and we sang the song of iridescence.
"our circles of flight are perfect symmetry
bringing each generation back to the start
may each word wing those who haven’t yet learnt flying
may those still sequestered, hum into the dark"
I like it best when things deflect.
Let the ocean spread as mirrored glass.
Let it unfold my own dimensions,
Let sun spread in wash, a simple kind
of reflection, Like when I look at you,
laying past said’s to did’s on sand grain piles
forming foundations for future what if’s
curving spirals for your life’s nautilus.
Let the ocean hold the time I held you,
Bloodied, vernixed, tied by pulsing cord,
I unfurled and couldn’t love you more,
Narcissus drowned to newborn echoes.
It's known the heart cannot hear itself,
but in your own fibronacci swirl
Let the ocean reflect my diffracted beat,
where chaos in a whirl became symmetry.