Thursday, December 16, 2010


A leafless tree, a grey and windy sky--
I would have missed him, but he turned his head
and flashed metallic scarlet. I stopped dead
on the sidewalk, stricken through the eye
by color bright enough to penetrate
the dullness of disuse around my heart.
A wakeup call, a conscience-striking dart
to rouse me from my sorry, torpid state!

A hummingbird is not much of a singer:
his call, announcing nothing more than presence,
is a single harsh and grating note.
But how he wears that ruby iridescence
as though a thoughtful God had lanced a finger
and pressed it to the tiny feathered throat.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

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