Backyard

The red hooded hummingbird dived among the blossoms
To the right and behind my friend’s shoulder
As we sat in his back yard while clouds gathered
Distantly thundering as we spoke. 

I listened carefully, watching the bird hover and drink,
As he explained what the diagnosis meant,
A few years declining, increasing compromise, 
No treatment. That’s it. 

The red hooded bird came up behind him,
He didn’t notice, and hung in the air. 
Maybe, I thought, the tiny not-even-a-handful
Burst of feathers and beak thought my friend,

As he sat still unmoving explaining
To me the gathering symptoms, 
Was colorful hummingbird nourishment. 
The bird darted back to the flowers.

My friend, calmly, accounted the loneliness 
Of the diagnosis.  And all I could do was say,
‘I’m sorry’, as I watched over his shoulder the
Red hood dip his beak into the nectar. 

My friend told me his family and friends
Have rallied to him, which blunts the lonely
Blade, and provides moments of sweet nurture.
The bird flicked off, it started to rain.

We said our farewells. 
He asked me to come again. I will.
I hope my red-hooded friend shows up too.