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How could anyone
possibly forget
an inquisitive hummingbird
who ignored the purple butterfly bush
and the orange trumpet vine

to hover briefly

underneath a broken backyard umbrella
with strings of multicolored
origami cranes, tangled and torn
yet somehow still tantalizing
in a gentle morning breeze

unless it was someone
preoccupied with clouds
arranging half a bag of frozen corn
and ice in a zippered bag
around a sprained ankle
elevated by two pillows
that didn't match

on a lawn chair half eaten by squirrels
that has certainly seen better days;
mid-morning coffee spills on a book
balanced precariously on shoes sitting
empty
in grass that needed to be cut.