There are moments,
fleeting moments,
that feel like the beating wings
of a hummingbird.
Ephemeral,
ruby throats glistening,
draped in green sequined shawls.
Theirs is a message of hope from petal to petal,
a freeze frame of harmony,
subtle and serene.
This canyon is my nursery.
This sun the milk of my mother.
Like a newborn spirit warrior,
I am naked but wounded.
I am raw and revealed.
I am divinity imploding.
I am the sand by this boulder.
I am this creek where I stand.
I am finally beginning to heal.

08/16/2006

Posted on 08/17/2006
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