Tiny Gifts

I held a hummingbird in my hand
no larger than a matchbox car.
Iridescence, convalescence,
and a stabbing, jabbing tongue.
He, with his scarlet ascot
and velvet green smoking jacket,
lasted only a few minutes
in my makeshift recombobulation
station complete with shelter
from wind and sun. Time enough
to get his head straight
and then a buzz, a whir
up to the pine branch
signifying a goodbye.

6/17/10