Warren Falcon (04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)
The Offered Bird Of Aris Moore
Now that day has come
I reach for the sketch
numinous in its plain
simple gesture -
straightforward humble Valentine of
the offered bird, embraced,
Another dawn blizzard empties last crystals,
draws heavy curtains tighter -
shut out the City, the light.
Sudden the mourning dove sings
patient between notes as if
reading music, whole notes,
minor keys, long pauses -
How I have needed to hear the song dove again,
feel the companion tree, climb up to,
and embraced would be by wind swayed
soothed a boy away from the brown
house on the high hill of the dark wood-
sorrow is of that home made still.
I dare not open the curtain for fear of losing the dove.
Later see a few crests of down
pressed in snow pure upon the escape,
calligraphed signature of tiny feet,
little gestures of affection left
upon the metal grate -
names I cannot pronounce but only sing.
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