Shift Movement

Hummingbird

 

At the tip of my nose

there is something sweeter

than any earthly perfume,

yet I cannot smell it.

Every time my eyes blink

a vision appears

of splendor beyond imagining;

I see it not.

At the ends of my fingers

is a touch filled with love

deeper and truer than any devotion

I can conceive.

Yet my hands hang loose

connecting with nothing.

If I turn around,

it is behind me.

If I look over my right shoulder,

it hides at my left.

There is nothing for me to do.

You will show yourself

when you wish.

I know you are here,

hiding in music I can’t hear,

loving me

as the lover I have never found,

obscuring yourself

in the clarity I have sought

but not achieved.

Sometimes I am discouraged,

but not deterred.

You are here, you are here,

waiting for me to stop the drama.

I can’t find you by any effort,

though you embrace me like a coccoon.

I can’t smell you, see you, touch you,

catch you, hold you,

love you, discern you,

sense you in my breathing,

achieve you in my dying.

I can only exist as I find myself,

nothing more.

You would not have made me this way

unless it were your will to do so.

You would not hide yourself

so close to me,

unless you intended yourself to be found.