Hummingbird

I wonder if the hummingbird’s 
heart beats as fast as its wings.
Maybe her heart is a third 
wing, the one that lifts
her tiny heft, 
that directs her toward 
the crimson flower.

Their feeder is empty 
this morning. Two hummingbirds
dive bomb my host, two buzzing
missiles. “Assholes,” she says
“they do this when I forget.” 
I laugh as she dashes, arm
overhead to bring their 
breakfast.

Beware all that heart, all
that fury. An army 
of hummingbirds
could change the world. 

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Photo by Chris Charles on Unsplash