Hummingbird
I imagine it was once slow and grey
then color came to a lackluster world,
tinted throats drank sunlight
through bowls of honey and light.
Eons shed a useless weight,
until a flint of flight hummed bright,
on shimmering winds.
This morning, one comes to my decking,
an iridescence, its long thin beak held high
as it hovers beside a red and yellow feeder.
It casts a shadow on the wooden floor,
a silhouette much larger than itself.
If I look only at the shadow
it could be some fanciful auk
descending out of a lost world,
but no, it is only a hummingbird,
a speck of color
blown from a windmill of creation
like the rest of us.
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