Towers of Aging
Wake Up, Spring Will Come
The land is bedded in snow,
Capped in mist,
White, white, all around,
All quiet, all still.
No breath gives sign of life,
No prophecy exhorts
From the nearby huddle of dark pine.
Save yourself from age’s gnaw.
Remember light-blaring sun
And bird-noisy spring,
Water’s fresh, alerting run,
And remember the colorful blooming dead.
A Hummingbird’s Release
I know myself by the compass
And quickness of eye.
I follow the hummingbird’s frenetic flight
Here and there, back and forth,
Over the clumsy metal furniture,
Around the fountain and in and out of the palms
Of our pyramid-crowned atrium,
Until exhausted it comes to rest
In the corner at the base
Of the window.
I know myself by my gentle fingers’ touch,
That took, held, and extended the tips of its wings;
The lift and opening of palms cupped;
And the joy of having returned
This creature of flight and color
To Your nectar of light and flower.