I feel my head tilt back with yours
and let the sweetness find its way
in again.  Again slip nectar
to you, thrum to your
thrum.  As one,
we fly as a hummingbird flies.
Bit tipsy on power, bit proud
of the racket we make.  
At the crest, morph to
an eagle, swooping,
rapacious.
Sated, are slow parting
doves.
 
Time and again, we find
each other, no matter how strong
the wind or dark the cloud.
Funny how a pair of odd birds can
soar.
How much electricity can throb
under thinning feathers,  
how much lightning and hail
we fight off.  Loss or no,
look who is back to rebuild
their nest.  Less like swans
than albatrosses, but both
in it for life.  Not caged
like pet lovebirds, but free.          
 
Fly, baby, fly!

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2009

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