An hour to myself this morning: hummingbird visits the cannas— little warrior, mechanical windup music box.
He splinters time and light. I re-envision him at all points of the compass simultaneously, circling the red blossoms,
existing in the now moments across linear timestreams,
existence merging, splintering, blurring identities and moods.
The flux of an idea spun around itself, continuous motion—