On occasion I have caught
the gray maiden perched
on a Joshua branch. Her wing claiming
a cluster of spots
that are dark and round
as the olives adorning
my stoneware vase.
Sometimes, I put flowers inside
that are barely opened
anticipating what might bloom;
and whenever I see that bird,
I feel a wisp of my breath
slide under her mottled down
wondering if it will turn
into something more
as she flies off, a fugue
of feathered dusk.
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The lovely illustration is called, "Mourning Dove Nesting" by Maria Hunt.
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