On finishing a cup of tea

 

The humming bird is back,

amid fountain drops,

an silence framed,

behind this glass door.

It is warm already

Desert morning

and blue past my window.

My  room is chilled silent,

Except for the ticking of an ancient clock

just wound. Tick Tick

for a hundred years of filling ancient rooms

with Tick Tick.

All is OK and

I know you are alright.

Smile and hugs await

when I hear you rise from the cool sheets.

The humming bird is back