You Move in All Directions

Often in motion, you are ever changing,
scurrying off the screen, or else beating
your wings in place, a hummingbird in flux.
Were it not for Columbus, I would say
you fall off the edge when you reach the horizon,

but we know better. Yes, my darlings,
you are capable of moving in all directions,
or confounding us by hovering whole days
to replenish lakes and soil.
Regrettably you have the gall to cover up the sun,

linger until you invite dark thoughts.
It’s good you know when enough’s enough.
Then there are days you don’t show up at all
and leave the heavens to do their blue thing.
Those days I really miss you,

long to spend a week on my back in a meadow,
admiring how you roll so gracefully—
a continent of wash in an industrial-strength dryer.
I can almost see myself tumbling with you
as we play cat and mouse with the moon.