Hummingbird

The hummingbird only looks fragile after it's fallen,

after it's flown into the window and broken its neck,

after its wings've stopped and stilled and stiffened,

after its colors have grown muted and matte and dull.

No matter how I might stretch its wings, clean its feathers,

try to remind it all that it knows of brightness and flight,

it can only be broken once pinned and pressed beneath glass,

it can only be a dead echo of the swift and clever creature

I had hoped to catch.

4/9/2018