a lone dove
coos at a pink sky
until night falls



2 thoughts on “Pink

  1. Spare, clean and so so so. I am brought back to stubble-fields between Sanford and Oviedo, Florida in the 1960s after a morning dove hunt before sunset. Later at sunset, listening to a lone dove call, ambivalence settles: good eatin’ (if you bet all the birdshot tweezered out and a melancholy over the ease of hitting the limit. But next season so many more to feast on the field’s remains. I had not thought of those hunts and the dove calls in years. Thanks.


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