How do we build, anticipate newness, and still ourselves from expectation. Hummingbird knows work, chooses a location, gathers spider webs and lichen, offers her body as a mold. Her heart beats at 1,260 per minute, she can survive -4F, her wings flap 50 beats per second. Every night she hibernates, slows her pulse, exists in the horizon between living and ghost. This is why my people talk of her as the messenger, collects each spirit to usher them along to the afterlife. She lives in miliseconds, blinks, vibrations, pitches. At night she colds, holds breath, numbs body, flutters at the edge of possibility. And each morning she animates, sings, then gathers into flight.