I feel sorry for the dead
hummingbird on sunny piece
of concrete. I take it
as an omen that it would die next
to my bicycle, that it would be
waiting for my return. I am stunned
by the metallic green waves
of its feathers and red canyon
circles of its neck. I am stunned
swimming in the waves, circling the canyon. Lying on its belly,
wings huge next to the rest
of it, the hummingbird begins to push
its body from the ground as my body
surges, seeing its twisting
beak. I think it’s barely alive, it’s still dying
and these are the signs. I say, you poor
, and think of picking it up
softly as a bloom and
placing it in the tulips. I say you poor
baby, you poor baby swimming in the waves, circling
the canyon, you poor baby

and the hummingbird begins to rise
low past my shins and flies
to a pink flowering tree