Hummingbird,
I love you.

Flitting at the feeder, 
sipping sugar-water. 

A long quenching draft. 

You hover high, low,
left.  Right in front of me. 

Then lift-off — 
I watch you ascend;

I trace your zigzag, 
emerald and scarlet 
against shadowed pine,

until you meld 
with the sky and I 
see you no more. 

Away 
to southern clime. 

One full night, alone in flight…

Will you remember me,
the lilac, the holly left behind?

Someday I will 
fly beside you.

Under new constellations. 

Never more alive than
when in the warm updraft with you,
the moon on the gulf below,

and plentiful nectar near. 

cc: Chagall 2025