The Hummingbird

The lingering scent of early morning dew

That drips like silver down olive blades

I hear the flutter, feel the air

Frantically flitting to fulfil their desires

A tint of teal

A wash of coral

The colours uncertain

As if melted from crystals

It’s like looking in a mirror

But your body is glass

A golden stream hitting the shards

Creating a chaotic symphony 

Sometimes I discern their desperate chorus

It keeps them alive they tell me

Their spirit twangs and their heart glides

Smooth and swift against the blue skies