2 a.m. by Michael Pacholski

2 a.m.

by Michael Pacholski

so still a hummingbird
fluttered only once
in its sleep
and was hushed
by nest-neighbors

as the only motorcycle in town
zoomed from one junction road to the next
ripping the air

collecting solitudes as fields of soy
and fallow corn contemplated
ripeness and the looming winter