The fire became an August wind
That shifted with sunset
Into a September claiming grace
About the starlit field.
Petunias, cherries, golden rod,
Autumn on the rise
Like each pigeon upon the row
Minding seasons choice.
Tag: pigeon
Pigeon Wigglers (day 1556)
When I said that I had been
And would once again return,
I really did mean it.
Not like those pigeon wigglers
Roaming without a cause.
Morning Summer Streets (day 1507)
These streets call this name out loud,
A lovers hand we walk in time.
Browns and pigeons and fixies that
Catch our cycling hearts alight.
A beggar shall be at once alarmed
At how quickly we pass him by,
And all the same we run into
The slowest walker of the three.
Hunger bites at opportune,
The journey’s point and now the stop,
Coffee beans and toasted triangles
A hunger fed and to be led.
Forget the Blue Eyes (day 1346)
Nobody saw the pigeon I passed;
I was an angel
Holding late setting sun.
Eyes of light blue
That crawled upon edges
Of shallow stages – dimly lit.
I was the gravest,
And as time lurched
It was I whom all met.