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.

Dancing in the Dark

Golden sunlight pierces a rift
In draperies drawn closed,
Warm photons passing through floating motes,
To land upon a fallen streamer lying
Coiled in a graveyard of listless balloons.

For a brief moment the hovering dust
Swirls and eddies
As a figure slowly sways through the light,
Stocking feet shuffling
Back and forth,
Back and forth.

Eyes closed in reverie,
Softly humming,
Moving in time,
Her graying hair shifting loosely
Around thin shoulders,
As she sways
Back and forth,
Back and forth.

Arms opening wide
As if in expectant embrace,
She slowly twirls
Out of the light
And resumes her swaying
Back and forth,
Back and forth.

The balloons scuttle heavily out of her path,
Carried on disturbed air.
Streamers whisper as they form new entanglements
On the wooden floor,
And as she makes her latest pass,
All becomes quiet again
As she continues
Dancing in the dark.