I can imagine, in some otherworld,
Primeval-dumb, far back,
In the most awful stillness, that only gasped and hummed,
Humming- birds raced down the avenues.
Before anything had a soul,
While life was a heave of matter, half inanimate,
This little bit chipped off in brilliance
And went whizzing through the slow, vast, succulent stems.
I believe there were no flowers, then,
In the world where the humming-bird flashed ahead of creation.
I believe he pierced the slow vegtable veins with his long beak.
Probably he was big,
As mosses, and little lizards, they saw were once big.
Probably he was a jabbing, terrifying monster.
We look at him through the wrong end of the telescope of time,
Lucky for us.
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