Stillness

Poetry from the Salt River

Some places ask us to look. Others ask us to listen.

Vipismal
Costa's Hummingbird

He lifts from brittlebush,
a quick flare of purple
struck against dust—

He threads between cholla
and the dry wash’s scoured bed,
where the living tread
paths long worn.

After rain, the ocotillo greens.

The hummingbird returns
to leaf and light.
He rises above the wash,
his wings beating the air into stillness.

Below, the old hoof-ruts,
new leaves among the thorns,
wind lifting yesterday's sand.