the hummingbird.

much like the hummingbird, my dear
zipping off to here or there
& i don't know if i should stop
& land for then i might have to
think of what i've done & do
to you & us & me & they
& if i do i'll end up gray
perhaps in blue i meant to say.

i rush from place to spot & back again
for time i've lost & when
i land my stop is brief to be sure
hurting isn't what i seek
from me or us or you or they
& surely i'll hold them at bay
if only i will not slow down
& keep you coming round for me.

a mile a minute for all the hours
in the day but when i sleep or dream
a million fright'ning dreams & toss & turn
& cannot speak

& so i flutter by again & touch the petals of the daisy
oh how i'd be your shining sun
if not the clouds so hazy.

so dream a little dream of me
think not of what's become of me
for you'll be tortured by the thoughts
of my own destructivity.