Your wings unzip from southern warmth
to map new latitudes of dawn;
you brave the Gulf’s voracious gape —
a twenty-hour marathon.
Through winds and rains and solstice change,
you soar on homing threads of birth;
a flashing dynamo, a wisp
of consciousness above the earth.
You chart the miles with blossom-breaks,
(between your forays after flies)
refuelling on their nectar blends
a swizzle-pause to energize.
We hang our scarlet beacons out
to signify a landing site;
our honor is to briefly share
your iridescent glory flight.
Diminutive, defiant darter,
tiny heart in pounding pace;
we savor every fleeting glance —
a streak of heaven’s fragile grace.