i have not entered the room

where

we devoured each other.

where our

bodies feasted upon each other

with desire,

and hunger.

light enters

and casts shadows

that shift across the floor.

a gentle breeze, soft as breath,

stirs up echoes.

i hear faint sounds

that are almost voices,

almost words,

almost memories.

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!”