The Yellow Head of the Hummingbird

The Yellow Head of the Hummingbird Yellow hummingbird head, Lopped off by feline fangs, And left as a gift On the welcome mat. Short sharp black beak Arches downward hopelessly Like the collective heartbreak Of a million lost souls. Misbegotten and forgotten. Lacerated and left for dead. This continuous marathon dance. This never-ending lunge. This eternal stroll in the park. This incessant spasm in the dark. I close my eyes and reach for something ahead of me. I don't want to see it. Because I am afraid, Afraid of what it might see. Afraid of what it might say. Past my eyes Past my soul Past the lost days and nights Of an entire lifetime. Look. I hold in my hand an empty bottle. It once held the liquid refreshment of my youth. Now I see the scum marks The black residue of a thousand forgotten thoughts. I throw the empty bottle down Down into the darkening maelstrom Of rippling voices, screaming and crying, Like gulls in the afternoon When the sun compels the vulnerable to the surface, And the feeding frenzy begins. The yellow head of the hummingbird Is swept up with the shattered glass. Now, there’s no more emptiness.