The low song of the
mourning dove. Tentative notes
in our snowy streets
coming from nowhere
I can see. I’d like to trust
it, the radiance
before first light. The thaw
will reveal the wreck we’ve made
of things. Yet this song.
The low song of the
mourning dove. Tentative notes
in our snowy streets
coming from nowhere
I can see. I’d like to trust
it, the radiance
before first light. The thaw
will reveal the wreck we’ve made
of things. Yet this song.