I saw an Allen’s hummingbird’s tongue
against November fog
I listened as she kept complaining about the
shrub jay shrouded in her bush

and when I thought I had lost her
I caught her in flight
in a grainy picture

currant news on my lips
I wear when I write
to have the truth ooze out of me
thick and sensuous like garnets
and very ripe pomegranates
that share the same glow in the red deep

no one needs to see me
but I will think of that berry color
drawn from the center of my pelvis
crawling up through my bones like a serpent

reminiscent of the days
skins are shed deep within