poem

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.