URNotAlone

A Dove

August 13th, 2006 8:24 pm MDT

Gathered in a silver bowl
by the river’s edge,
the voice of flowers.

Speak to me. Take my hand.
The thirsty dove I saw,
longing for the morning.

Come, warm your hands
in the sun’s rising.
Here, they hide their eyes

hoping we won’t see
what they cannot look upon.
The wind scatters the seeds

we brush clinging from our coats.
In the sea’s muted calling,
we meet again.

This moment
contains all others.

© 1994, 2002 Ernest