I am leaning over the table, alone,
in the open theater of air.
Evening sun slinks off, offers deep light
and shadow. May is alive, its perfume
weaving about green-heavy trees
which rustle and settle into early dusk.
I feel thankful pain has left me for one moment
when a hummingbird’s thrumming wings
announce its arrival.
A small pleasure. But it will pass, as ever;
I do not look up.
Until it hovers right before me,
emerald head ablaze, for
five seconds and holding.
I feel its purposeful energy
in a blur of breeze and then it is
then ten seconds as it gazes into my eyes
with its own, large, gleaming,
I see it; it sees me;
I am netted. Taken out of the cage of time.
My heart lifted out, polished clean.
Can this last for a lifetime? But the visit
over, it dashes blossom to bud, departs.
I look about for a sign of divinity,
a final flourish for such a moment.
And know that it came,
was wholly here,
and came, perhaps, for me.