As I lay on the riverbank becoming stone and driftwood the wire-tight buzz of a hummingbird surveys my oneiric transition. Hovering, observing flower and stone, wood and a human being polished by the waters of its journey after death.
Tall spikes of purple cress deny their fate, brush past my ears like a lover’s hair determined to retake what was once theirs. Rising from my dream, brushing away this intrusion the hummingbird arcs away. Safely home, I find flower petals hidden in my clothes.