at last I can bid the mourning doves good-bye

as they coo on the fire escape


the screechy bird song at dawn

smooths into a white noise of cacophony


as the sun rises and the dreadful dreams of night

fade back into the unknowable subconsciousness


that lurks beneath every springtime creep

as fears dissolve and joy like birdsong sends its first call








Content (c) 2008-2016 Philip Milito.