A hummingbird died in my hand today. Rescued from a predatory pet, Who prowled around Searching for her lost snack, Ambulatory, While the tiny bird, Once so swift, Now rested in my warm, cupped hands, Its breath a quick stacatto beat. A quick peek discovered bare bird skin, A tiny foot, Or is it grass? And wings so still. A prayer. A plea. A tiny beak grazes my palm. A momentary hope, Then stillness. And from the nearby cedar, In the quiet of the darkening sky The echoes of Calypte's cry.