And It Is Wet

A hummingbird hovers outside my window Admiring itself in the reflection I see its colors shine in the morning sun Almost hypnotizing Staring, I wonder if it sees me Alone behind dusty mini-blinds Vertical slices of faux wood Narrowly showing the world beyond I should smile at this “precious” scene Spring is near in signs and actions Yet I do not, I can not, for I despise spring It is a symbol of life…new life Life is the darkest thought of my mind’s shadows What good is it, new or old or otherwise You breathe, you wake, you want and you lose Poetic splatters can’t mask these feelings Pleading images claim all empty fault As crimson blood runs the gutters Splashing on concrete cracks twisted about my neck Laughing from a back seat around the next corner And still that hummingbird lingers…pointing Tiny wings move in a rapid dance It’s red throat casting aspersions in my direction As I reach for my own…and it is wet, and I am crying