Twin Palms / Palm Springs

They’re everywhere here,
flitting about so fast
I mistook them for butterflies
the first days I walked
the neighborhood. But if
you pause, wait, you might
see one land.

After a day spent in bed, felled
by something (not that thing)
that seized me, shook me and
unceremoniously dropped me,
when I finally rose to eat a bit,
I stepped outside to the patio
under three leggy palms and
next to a lemon tree lush
with yellow orbs.

Taking a seat, I saw the hummer
flitting about the blossom-less
tree—no food there—but offering
a handy perch for the wee bird,
which, like a tiny Peter Pan, hovered, 
forward and back, before landing
on a slender branch. Momentarily
stilled, it looked down at me, 
head shifting every few seconds,
left, right, down, needle beak
occasionally pointing skyward,

and we gazed at each other 
for a few minutes, its little heart
outpacing mine by about a
thousand beats per minute.
And when a noise startled
the tiny iridescent missile, 
it arrowed up into the blue, 

off to find the next blossom,
always on the move, difficult
for mere humans to see, but
making this one feel a bit
lighter, which is, after all,
part of their charm.