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When A Dove Dies
Beneath the sun
the dove´s broken wing
strangled by the light
floundered for flight
Round eyes rolling
in a distant fright
the circular pattern
of the orb repeated
in more ways then counted
In each flailing
rapid beat of a heart
smaller than a fist
A struggle in terror
with each gasped
wheezing breath
A death without understanding
but still a necessity
that however questioned
will not be lessoned
The ring of life
reflected in each round eye
at the moment
when they greet the sun
The burning ocular
that the cycle sweeps
circles around
It is the ring
in which everything
is connected.
4:47 PM - 9/22/2008 -
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