Hummingbird Communion

We trace the rarest hummingbird
in our fossilized eyes. It’s the blurring field
slimmed from its wings. It’s the blue throat
captioning our brains, saying color, wow,
color, fire, no words, shake a million nerves
then scratch out every voice. It colors you
with no other world. It holds you. It moves.

Clyde Kessler lives in Radford, Virginia with his wife Kendall and their son Alan. This year, poems have been published in Mad Swirl, Book of Matches, Spinoza Blue, and Literary Nest.