![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPPd1w1q4j3hLKX4zAyETM8QbGTbRtZTZuIy-OdkacNKWwEciaCAl7ZdWS4xPSjjB-DWFP21SPXAhfVuDpvF84v8OVPe8OWaqxc0gOdyIyBxtmRHnJ8_4icSlVnQolITsrNyDzpaC7Mw/s400/perchedhummingbirdlg.jpg)
To have a heart like a branch
A hummingbird would perch on.
Picture it:
Trees in the distance
awash with sunlight,
the gauzy gold air is,
early mornings
on Carolina dog days.
And nearer at hand,
The still-shaded
redbud canopying my porch,
a hummingbird seated
outrageously bright, gnomic,
eyes peering, seeking.
What brings it there,
To that one brown limb among the leaves?
I put no other question to this day.
If I had this single answer,
I'd ask nothing else again.