[Ruby-throated Hummingbird]
Tossing the Bones
Suppose the fragile wing bones
of a hummingbird
tossed into the circle:
the wing because flight
fills our fleshy bodies
with mystery.
We read the omens
as they scatter
bleached white on dark cloth.
Within the ancient circle
we see our limitations
opening to the sky,
and the revelation is not
our fate, but how we
gently pick up the bones
and walk away.
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