Tiny Beating Wings

Forever hovering,
Never touching,
Never resting,
Never landing,
Never connecting.
Sipping while in motion,
Tasting and flitting away.
A thing of fascination,
A thing to behold,
A wonderment of nature,
A rare and magical creature,
To be always in motion and yet unmoving.
To be within grasp and remain untouched.
I know this tiny thing,
I understand it intimately,
It does not land for fear of being shooed away,
It does not linger because while everyone longs to watch it,
None desire to hold it.
It may rest its tiny form in my palm.
I will hold it safe.
And maybe for just that moment,
It will also hold me.