fall in the garden of L’Hotel Pigonnet Aix en Provence, France
two white turtle doves in a black iron cage in the middle
of the garden thick with the smell of fall rain and old moss
one listless in the dusk deep in retreat her dark eyes drift
up as the shadows of late days and tall cypress lean down
dawn is dimmed sinking into rain and the dove
gone dead I imagine how
heavy it feels to fall to lie on the cold floor then light
in hand trees turn away and the wind moves on
nothing more but the cries short and a pause then slow
and long her mate’s wings lifted by the slight
stir the yellow leaves of the gingko tree against the musky sky turn
and I wake to fluttering in my chest and the sound of wings on metal
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