What Hummingbirds Mean

Meg says she wants to know where my edges are.
The gravity between people. The unknown yellow flower.

The desire to keep responding: She asks what I like
about language. I say: That it tries what it can’t

accomplish. The possibly imaginary stars.
Burnt leaves flying up. Invisible heat and how it lifts.

And there is nothing to complete, so much
I don’t know how it will fit.

What I like is how quiet it gets
when you stop trying to read into things.

Trying to be so careful with the sleeping bag zipper.
She keeps squeezing my hand in her sleep.