Hummingbirds

i took the whole whiskey bottle
and some dark-colored wine

then changed clothes &
put up the christmas lights
though it was almost spring.

i switched off the other lights
and looked at the color
between one room and the  next
in those lights.

i put some food into the microwave
as if nothing were happening.

i waited the way a piano waits
for its own hammers to fall.

i emptied that bottle,
i thought.

then, in the midst of a few thousand hummingbirds
i walked through the doorway
onto the linoleum.

something should happen now,
something final,
because it's this deep into the night,

when things are at their most silent,
indicating only themselves.
in this i want no longer to depart.

it's not about dying.
it's about easing in and out
on my own terms.

i play some music.
the microwave beeps to me
in a harsh, bright way.

the food must be ready.
i must be ready.

we all toy with mortality.

tonight i listen to piano music
and take my food
from one room
into the next

as the hummingbirds
fill the air.