They’re like a gathering of doves
cooing & floating on a zephyr.
They carry him on their backs
like TNT.
They rally,
protecting him
like Palace guards
The slightest vibration
could set him off.
There is no avoiding storms.
Eventually he explodes
like shrapnel lacerating flesh & bone.
They hide their wounds
beneath white feathers.
Brilliantly orchestrated, you have a fine use of language, Love Duncan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you Duncan I'm honored Joyce