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,

almost indecipherable.

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.