Three doves and a pigeon
Sit in the dusk
by my roof top
Carefully they stand on one leg
One after the other and scratch their belly
Then flush their feathers and settle down
To watch the dust breaking the dying rays into strings of pearls
One calls her mate and flies off without a good bye.
One grooms her mate standing with her on the ledge
And the pigeon leaves without a word.
The dust and the dusk
Carve their shadows in the still air
Slowly dissolving as the night catches up with the dew
I go away wondering why the pigeon did not say good bye.
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