AFTER A STORM, THE PIGEONS
KEITH S. WILSON
rained from the trees and reminded
us they were filled with blood.
one in particular stayed. he raised
his breastbone like a flag
and laid in the open like a sovereign
nation. i would check on him every morning,
a tropical flower. eventually he found
his way into an alley. he enraptured stray cats
with his philosophies. and then he was gone.
maybe he buried himself. a hefty dirge,
the song of forgetting. he might not have left.
i might be able to find him, now that i remember.
i wonder what i'd wear. i might start by saying
thanks for being real. did you see when they took
the magnolia trees? does infinity echo, and what
is it like to have been there, at the beginning