by José A. Alcántara
The hummingbirds have arrived,
beating their invisible wings beyond the window
where buds are beginning to break.
They come bearing the light of Panama,
Colombia, Costa Rica, the red fire of the tropics,
here, to this mountain, still spotted in snow.
I go out among them, in my red coat,
hoping they will mistake me for a flower.
They buzz close, hovering before my face.
If only one of them would touch me, I would
sprout feathers and take to the air, my wings
tracing infinity, my throat turning to rubies.
From The Bitten World. Tebot Bach, 2021.
Reprinted with permission.