Maya Catherine Popa

Nothing can be done
for the hummingbird.

                                                       Arcade of color,
                                                       she fails to camouflage,

unwilling to simplify
for sugar’s sake.

                                                       We make a danger                            
                                                       as any pair:

shame-sugared, living
on the nectar of nouns

for this and this,          

                                                       two mendicants,

Her purrs stir the puzzle:        
bird or pure hunger?               

                                                       Desire defeats us:
                                                       I return to you,           

otherwise, who will bleed
the flowers?
See how the bird
doesn’t sing what she knows—


                         See how the lightning avoids her.