I keep thinking of her
As a humming bird,
So small, she might be
Merely a mosquito,
Touching and being touched
By the depths of the flowers
She must reach into
In order to collect
The nectar she needs
To survive,
Never really landing,
Just hovering,
Wings in constant motion,
Condemned to a life
Of impermanence,
No schedule of
Appointments,
Just close encounters,
She looking for
True love deep down
In the middle of
Those flowers
She penetrates,
Unable to remain long,
Nothing in any of them
To contain her,
Lucky perhaps
Since any flower
Might turn out
To be
A Venus flytrap,
Better free
And impermanent,
Then contained
Unwillingly.
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