In the second stanza of “Emplumada,” the observer spots the pair of hummingbirds clinging to one another with fierce purpose, “to find what is good, what is / given to them to find” (Lines 13-14). What is good? One can surmise that for a hummingbird, sex is probably good, as is food. To that end, the season itself is something that is good, for both its comparatively clement weather and its floral bounty: “Flowers / born when the weather was good” (Lines 7-8) provide plenty of food.

The birds can only find, however, that which is given them. Beyond a nest, perhaps, birds do not produce things. They must seek and retrieve that which will keep them alive. It’s hard work. It takes up the whole day. Eventually, flowers die, making food more scarce and harder to find. Hummingbirds do not mate for life, or even twice, so the work of finding someone to mate with is never done. The act of finding something good, for a hummingbird, occurs through the arduous process of looking very hard all the time. Deliverance from this constant search comes in the solace of taking to the air, in wind-powered mobility, or so the observer imagines.