As If, Fields of Lavender

By Jane Hart

A droning so loud, I expect 
a squadron of bees, see instead 
a body hummingbird-bright: 
olive-green back, orange-banded 
tail—velvet, I’m drawn to touch—
and red translucent wings beating, 
beating, beating. Somehow,—
it just isn’t bird enough.
Nose deep in purple petals
(I never see a beak),
so devoted to its drawing 
down of nectar, it doesn’t see
me hovering. It’s a moth!
M. stellatarum. Lucky omen 
for some. I read that a swarm 
was seen crossing the Channel 
on D-Day. France, broad fields 
of lavender at their backs.