Hummingbird

He must have been here
all winter checking the feeder
on frosty days looking
for the usual handout.

We get the message
supplying homemade nectar
that freezes over night
offering cold comfort in the morning.
Still he comes
tongue-testing for the thaw.

Now he brings his mate
newly arrived from Mexico
sporting a banded leg
to show she's doing her bit
for research.

While she dines he waits
on a twig so thin it hardly bends
under the weight of hollow bones,
then they're off
little bottle-rockets of scarlet iridescence
in the spring sun.

I watch as they gather
empty webs, the finest moss
and my hair donated just for this.
She nestles in,
to form a perfect cup
smoothing the sides
with her long tongue
and they wait, as we do,
for the second generation.