against the stagnant humid air
trapped also in the frosted glass greenhouse.
flutter flutter
bang bang
flutter
cut off from the cannas and lilacs
whose nectar in days past
breathed life into her strained muscles,
the hummingbird pokes deep
into the folds of synthetic flowers,
searching for a drop of nectar
left perhaps by gods
who hastily consumed
without replenishing
the sweet substance.
search flutter
bang
unable to find fulfillment
among artificial petals,
she pursues the clouded outlines
of lemon-yellow daffodils
barely visible
through the translucent walls
blocking the aesthetic
fragrance of flowers from reaching
the interior of the greenhouse.
bang
*
banging
violently against the frosted glass,
the hummingbird beats
her wings harder and faster
against the darkening walls.
wings bleeding and bruised bright
blue beneath her feathers
by her struggle
against the glass cell walls,
the hummingbird slides to the cement slab
on which the greenhouse stands.
flutter
silence
the sun,
barely visible now whispers
lowly through the glass.
the dimly illuminated
rigidly cubic tomb,
now cool as night approaches,
surrounds the limp strained body
of a stranded hummingbird
fallen faster
than a now
descending
tangerine orb.
still
silence
*
violet and pink streaks
illuminate the morning sky.
the sun rises;
the hummingbird does not.
morning sunlight pries
through the frosted glass
to the gray cement slab
where the hummingbird lies.
methodically, a man
in faded blue overalls unlocks the door
to the magi’s non-bestial greenhouse,
opens the tomb, and discovers
the battered body of a tiny
green and graying hummingbird
lying stiff like a pink flamingo yard ornament
engulfed by tiny black ants tunneling
through holes that were her eyes.
appalled,
he mechanically scrapes the bestial body
from the otherwise tidy cement,
dumps it into a black yard bag,
and wonders
how his neat little plastic palace
could have ever been invaded
by this ratty bird
carcass.
shantih shantih
shit.
