Hummingbird Song

It's their movement and energy, an apparent endless capacity for
flapping and turning and speed that we can't get over, that
astounds us. I imagine even their sleep is busy -- only a
few minutes every week, eyes closed but still flying --
motoring on through their electron dreams after
long non-smoking flights over large oceans.

At just that moment when we ourselves
can't beat our silly human wings any
harder or faster or longer -- when
finally we've raced everywhere we
could and are still hungry for more,
another sweet drop, and another --
sips but never a deep drink --
just then one of them, bright
and mercurial, drunk on the
blood of many red flowers
may turn and dart into the
backyard of our life and
remember their feet,
crank them down from
tucked belly positions,
fold their miraculous
wings close by their
taxed iron hearts,
sit and stare us
down like God
and be still -
sweet rest.