Little bird, isn’t it time you come north again? The nights here have stopped their dips and plummets into cold; our days are almost hot now, pleasant in the cherry tree’s shade where last you perched. Over the courtyard we’ve restrung the lights you like to sentry and swing, watchdogging the feeders as if they’re filled with gold. After suppertime we bring our own nectar and wait for the show—slick stunts, frenzied flying, throttled thrills-yet-never- spills—frontwards, backwards, even upside down. We want it all. But you haven’t appeared, and we miss the way you shear our wickered chair evenings. O hovering wonder, come make a home. Build your nest of spider’s silk and lichen. Lay your jelly bean egg. O poet’s namesake, genus Archilochus, of course your flock is called a bouquet, a glittering, a shimmer, a tune. O hummer, iridesce our summer. The sugar water’s mixed and waiting your elegant bill, your rapid tongue. I wear a red hat, that you might believe I’m a flower. Hover with your face at mine, chee-ditting chee-ditting your charms. Plumage our season with your engine’s fast little hum. Come. Electrify the heavy air. Kory Wells Kory Wells is the author of Sugar Fix, poetry from Terrapin Books. Her writing has been featured on The Slowdown podcast from American Public Media and in The Strategic Poet, the Parks & Points anthology Wayfinding, The Wild Word, and elsewhere. A former poet laureate of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, she nurtures community through arts, advocacy, and storytelling.