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.