One day a bolster of grey silk clouds
bank the horizon and
fog drifts on the silver skin of the bay,
the next blue enamels the sky and
the sea is rippled with golden nerves.
One day the wind deliberately rips
the bay into frayed waves and
rain fingers the roof,
the next sun bakes biscuits of air
and waves tumble rocks bearing
the bright silence of sea glass
gleaming like tiny dreams of
The robins have returned and this morning
a hummingbird appeared like hope,
tiny, urgent, bent on the
promise of sweetness.