mourning doves.

two morning doves rest 

mourning on rubbles of pavement 

   argue over a worm 

amphibian or two 

   breakneck pace 

and we then never catch them …

bullets never quite hit 

  is it a sin to kill a morning dove? 

bluegrass calms the seeds of

muted iridescence glimmers

hope in the fading auburn day 

      as the dove struggles to nest 

  longing in lampposts or limbs of treehouses

gone astray; no arrest 

the songbird begs for salvation in the ticks

mourns the love,

misses the sun and borne chicks

pointed turtle doves mate and trust,

under the dying sun, they don’t understand 

will eventually dust.

whispers of alleged alimony

   (never a concern) 

winter winds ripping branches, pushing the seas

underneath everything they see 

(they know to leave).

and yet 

    the songbird still sings 

with sunder years of misery beneath their wings.