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                                                                                                                                                            in pencil Miller, Charles

                                                                                         Nectar
                                                      
                                                         Here it comes humming, a radish of a bird
                                                         tricked out in tropic feathers, darting,
                                                         diving, parking in morning air just inches
                                                         from my ear, and then zipping away to nip
                                                         some nectar from lemon buds. Then buzzing back
                                                         beside my ear---in need of some ear wax?

                                                        And then it flits to a lowly coffee tree
                                                         to preen its peacock shawl and hunch
                                                         its doe-brown back, its claws clinging
                                                         to a brittle coffee twig.  From there it turns
                                                        its sweet-tooth beak at me, as if to ask,
                                                        'Is there any nectar at all in the hulk
                                                         of that beanpole hair-thatched human?'

                                                        Try me! I stand staring, trying to con
                                                         those folded translucent helio-wings
                                                         while honey-hungry pupils are fixed on me.
                                                         But away it bobs, a wing-powered mind
                                                         winging above our bougainvillea wall.

                                                         Come back! Hover by my northern ear, and turn
                                                         your nectar-needing beak at the inner man!

                                                                                                                   written in black ink Charles Miller

rest in black ink Tepotzln

                                                   Casita Goolen, 10 May 86

2 Juneunderlined Jack, could this be the 2nd time I answered your card? Either I'm forgetful or it's just because I think of you often. I write almost 1,000 words per day on the New Book, walk, rest, read - the quiet life. / Lynn & I were married here in '67 and she hopes to join me in one of my chronic visits here.

along right-side margin P.S. Loren? Lark is almost 16

                               and  " my size. Hope someone can read & translate this for you.  C