A Streak of Dazzling Color

He has flown headfirst against the glass

and now lies stunned on the stone patio,

nothing moving but his quick beating heart.

So you go to him, pick up his delicate body

and hold him in the cupped palms of your hands.

You have always known he was beautiful,

but it’s only now, in his stillness, in his vulnerability,

that you see the miracle of his being,

how so much life fits in so small a space.

And so you wait, keeping him warm

against the unseasonable cold, trusting that

when the time is right, when he has recovered

both his strength and his sense of up and down,

he will gather himself, flutter once or twice,

and then rise, a streak of dazzling color

against a slowly lifting sky.

José Alcántara