DOVES

The dove looks alarmed

as its mate goes flying

off the sideboard's edge

when you fling a door.

 

Forty years, same place,

you used to tell me

how instalments ensured

the pair were yours.

 

Now you sit in this pool

of senseless oblivion

and don't even shed a tear

as I brush up fragments,

 

dream miraculous repairs

like those lost vases

jigsaw-pieced to live again

impossibly from earth

 

Flights E-Journal #6 September 2022 Ed Darren Beaney