Tuesday 8 April 2014

Pigeon Talk



Pigeon Talk

I remember 
the beat of blood,
the small nudge of a landing,
tiny rushes of residues of flight,
the growing gristle of attachment.
I remember the pleasure of a pulse,a soft nearness, a nestling close.
 I remember the sound of crisis,the crack of terror, the shell shatter.
The light. The wonder. Cold and colour.
The crystal sharp edges of the sky.
I remember the flap and flutter 
 of wings.
 I remember the harsh caw
and crow of hunger
and the flight that followed.
I remember the warmth of foraged food,
the harshpeck of a beak, the tug of need.
I remember the blue sea beckoning, clouds calling, rising alone,
breaking out and flying.sudden breezes, the uplifts and the whirling.
I remember your call and soft cooing,
your tender words and stroking,
my wings flapping wildly
 as I was tagged
and dated.



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