I wrote a poem at the end of the year. If it were a color, it would be vermilion.
i found myself
before bright purple
insisting on the fullest hue—
a lavender plant
behind me
vermilion drifting loose
as if color could slip
from noise
& pull me
toward vineyards in winter—
how i laughed at the itch of grass
weeds snagged in freshly washed hair
the earth tickling cold
against my sweater—
our legs
reckless
flung stupid toward nothing
all of it
for a hummingbird
dipping in sugar
i wonder
if hummingbirds think