I wait each morning, sipping coffee,
addicted to this glimpse of elegance.
Tiny maestro, sleek in iridescence,
wings spread triumphantly, conducting
an orchestra of red plastic flowers.
With a darting kiss of beak into
sugar water he's a lover in miniature,
hovering for an instant over all
life's sweetness,
and sometimes when he's finished
he flies before my face – stops,
dips, lifts –
is gone, leaving me his blessing.

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