the two mourning doves on
the branch above me
for a moment were misquoted as a
pair of boys shoes, taken off
and too-neatly placed ten feet
in the air. he
(I wish I knew who he was)
had flown there, and in his
impatience jumped away
to another somewhere that
doesnt belong to me.
it was a funeral- I remember
him (telling me) now, and
the birds were what he
left behind in a promise
of return. I take off
my own shoes, sharpie-tattooed rubber
and green canvas drifting upward
in a metaphysical wind
and I feel the mud embrace
the crevices of my feet as
I walk away.















Comments
--
every time, the
being sings, that
makes the atheists
happy.
Thank you! And thanks for the fave/watch! *grin*
the same in return applies. cheers.
--
every time, the
being sings, that
makes the atheists
happy.
*clinks glasses*
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