ManicDDaily

Dove Morning

If sound were light, one
mourning dove
could bring the day,
its call a beacon beckoning dawn,
a sweet sun, not a blistering one,
a refuge from the night,
if sound were light.

If sound were water,
the interval of its call,
the rise and fall,
and the three tones after,
would float you in its lap,
a silky nap of lake or pond,
if sound were water.

But sound is sound,
and has gone to ground
just now, and how,
I wonder, the dove done,
the day already a hot one,
will I get through it—
keep true to those three
even tones that steady
that rise and fall, all the sounds
in the bird’s call—

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Another draft poem.  Have a good day. 

This entry was posted on July 8, 2022 at 1:22 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.