Monday Morning

 I wonder if you are sleeping.
My running shoes, wet with dew,
& cold, sloshing like I’m wading
Old Seventy Creek in them,
do nothing to remind me of you,   
but the hummingbird,
hanging motionless
by the feeder,
small,
beautiful,
perfectly being itself
before the sun burns
fog
& dew
becomes the metaphor
that brings dew,
hummingbird
& you
together as my poem.