A hummingbird died in my hand today.
Rescued from a predatory pet, 
Who prowled around
Searching for her lost snack, 
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.