Watching from inside a glass house, the speaker sees a hummingbird trying to reach flowers she can't get to. The glass is invisible to her, so she hovers just millimeters from the pane, perfectly still except for her blurring wings. The speaker admits that their own view is distorted: darting wrens look like stones. Only the hummingbird seems moved by simple, harmless desire.
The poem turns on a question. What can she actually see of the blossoms? Probably just a faint wash of color. What has caught her attention is the green, which the speaker calls "hateful" and imagines as a guerrilla enemy, one that matches her every move yet "will not engage." The tone shifts from gentle observation to something more tense and frustrated. The speaker seems to feel for the bird, and perhaps for anyone who longs for something that sits behind an unseen barrier. The title hints that the situation can be seen from both sides.