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White Pigeon

ISSUE:  Summer 2010
A formally dressed young boy plays while standing a few feet away from a Hearse.


When I hold the pigeon,
white as sun-bright,

when I feel the bone
and muscle, the delicate

lightness of feathers,
and I see the eyes

that have seen this world
grow smaller

and smaller—
eyes that have traveled

to tree-filled fields,
to places where the sun

is a caress and comfort—
I know what that thin-

voiced reggae man meant
wishing for wings

of a bird, to fly—
I hold you up,

feel you flutter
then let you go,

watching me get
smaller and smaller.


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