Hummingbird

Deep in conversation
on the semantics of disintegration,
we were stopped in our tracks
by a hummingbird.
The metaphysics of wing vibration 
in deepening gloom
trapping the last rays of a watery sun.
Aura. 
Mist.
Mystic.
We marveled at the curvature of the beak,
designed as if to reach
right to the heart
of the flower,
where nectar lies.
It seemed more important,
the thoughts humming in its tiny head,
at least more important
than procedural delays
impeding our death.