great migration

The season has come around again.
At this time of year,
It holds memories
of transformation.
I remember it was
When the hummingbirds left,
when they began their
Great Migration.
The air changed a little each day,
growing just a little cooler,
a little
cooler.
Before the hummingbirds left,
they returned,
Their wings a blur of motion.
“Give us the skins
you’ve shed,
the pasts
with no place here and now!”
they said.
We took off our skins and
layers of ourselves,
all the fragile surfaces
that took our breath,
that hid our eyes.
Then we let a stillness come.
A sense of calm where we could say,
“This is how I will remember you!”

empty air

How does my breath
get taken by yours?
When I speak,
you seem to draw out the marrow
from my words.
If my words come from fear,
you take in the shadows.
If they come from longing,
then I am left holding only
the remains of desire.
Is this
how we share?
Breath at the core,
yet I am
grasping at empty air.