Grief Hummingbird

When my father died, a hummingbird knocked on the casket's glass 
and woke me up. Its jeweled wings flashed before it flew away. 
Someone cried, It's his soul coming back to give us a sign.
I wish I knew with certainty if this was true.

I startled awake to a momentary flash of jeweled wings.
How do we know what form we take after we've left our bodies?
I wish I could tell you if this memory was true.  
The heart is veined, red as pulsing coral and small as a fist.

I wish I knew what form we take after we leave our bodies.
When a beekeeper dies, someone's sent to tell the bees.
The heart is veined, red as pulsing coral and small as a fist;
but the banner draped over the hive is dark as grief.

When a beekeeper dies, someone's sent to tell the bees. Is it
more painful, not knowing something's gone from the world?  
The banner draped over the hive is dark as grief.
The years have frayed its edges but it ripples in the wind.

I'd want to know if someone I loved was gone from the world.
Someone cried, It's his soul coming back to give us a sign.
The years have frayed the edges but it ripples in the wind. 
When my father died, a hummingbird beat on the casket's glass.