(By guest poet Jean Esteve, a previously written poem revisited here on November 23, 2021. Image painted by Jean Esteve.)
Doves
Together and always
together
they arrive at my back yard,
misappearing as a solid
of feathers --
a gossimer cloud
that lands with a gutteral thud.
Each year they increase
in number
still showing themselves in a clump.
So adoring of only
one another
pitch they their camp
with a mutual heart-beat-like thump.
Do they think their unique
mutuality
excludes them from nature's true nature?
Or perhaps it's their
singular beauty --
no creature wears better
such slices of gleam (pink, blue, green) in its sweater,
not reckoning that my
true-heart, Spot,
whose raison d'etre's to keep me amused,
employs his long-nosed best
break-shot
wagging enthusiasm
at his shrewdest wild carom, cradle, masse, roquet.
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