dark-eyed junko of the higher lands, you stay, you say!
why? is my question! I see the hummers - we feed them
their sugars, and so they stay among us. I’ve seen them
even like petals falling against the white of snows. so,
tell us all and don’t be shy: why? it’s not that far down
from the mountain to warmer elevations, where foods
are more plentiful, and no ice is shimmering on the dark
ponds of the transition zones of the rising sierra! so,
tell us again, what in you says home is where we are,
here in the places where deciduous crosses conifer,
and never looks back to the foothills where all is such
mellow, and, surely, more warm in the end of daylights.
I’m a little in awe of you, for being intrepid in a world of
caution and flight paths of disturbed migrations like
clarion calls of doom all about the skies. you seem to
know, deep under feathers over brain pan: home is
where you know the terroir. stay and make do. chirp
for what is, not for what could be. make home, where
your heart knows how to beat its song.