Three Hummingbirds - Ruah Bull

 As usual absorbed in a book,

I was shocked by a loud close thrum

and suspended emerald green-

did she smell the nectar in the poem?

Like an angel, or soul,

the hummingbird bathing in the fountain

shattered spray and light

and folded the moment open.

While watering the flowered sage,

she stopped, suspended, sipping from the flow.

I stood, joy-struck, still as an acolyte

my silence more than thank you.