When the storm clouds roll in, whip the sea into a frenzy I will know

it from my perch up on the mountain. The hummingbird is tossed

by currents smaller than the wingspan of solitude, slower

than the heartbeat of Earth’s molten core, impermanent

as the brushstroke of wasted time. My words will hiss on the wind:

Don’t lose yourself to the absence of nectar or the jealous buzz

and hum of bumble bees.  Cradle your chance, peck out the eyes

of the day star as he rises, move away into the blanket of your night.

And dream.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019