On this gray morning,
I want to give you
the yellow of the oriole,
the way it weaves through
the invisible weight of the air.
So much touches us
we cannot see,
and we wonder why
we feel heavy.
I would give you, too,
the gray whirr of the wings
of the hummingbird,
their improbable accuracy
as they negotiate the world
in search of what is sweet,
and I would give you joy
your own fine feet
still learning to master
this art of moving
across the world
one step at a time,
this art of living into the pause
between footsteps—
that moment when
the body lifts
as if we, too, could fly.
we feel heavy.
I would give you, too,
the gray whirr of the wings
of the hummingbird,
their improbable accuracy
as they negotiate the world
in search of what is sweet,
and I would give you
your own fine feet
still learning to master
one step at a time
and the long pause
in between.