The Humming Bird ~ Emily Dickinson

A route of evanescence
With a revolving wheel;
A resonance of emerald,
A rush of cochineal;
And every blossom on the bush
Adjusts its tumbled head,--
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy morning’s ride.

Letter found...

My dearest One,

I write these words because I must, because I hope for the kindness of your favorable reply.

Because I am torn between my intense desire to see you, talk to you, share with you and the terrible dread that the only way I should ever be able to properly say hello is to make love to you;

Because I could run to you with child-like, wide-eyed wonder only to have you punish me with apathy;

Because to simply imagine the sheer brilliance of your presence causes me to stammer nervously;

Because the mere touch of you could strike a lightning bolt of current through me that I should be riven from the deep, dark well of all prior existence.

You have no idea how terrified I am of you. I am more scared of you than I am of a toothache, or heartache, or bankruptcy, or rats.

Because you have so many differing sides and shapes to you:

Lover. Fighter. Poet. Crow. Hawk. Bear. Wolf.

How can I possibly change my own shape to follow yours?

And yet, if you were to turn into a dragon I believe I would come to love scales and claws and become desirous of kisses that singe.

Be merciful as I become acquainted with your mercurial transformations and take pity on me should I get burned.

As it is with courage that I abandon myself in trust to your chivalric nature for I am a blind fool stumbling through a labyrinth. Take my hand. Show me the way to your heart.

Patiently yours,

[illegible]




(c) 2012