Doves. See them up on the high wire
notes on the composers score sheet,
waiting to break into song flights of
wave after wave of fanned out feather soaring
Look, the way the flying dove’s tail
splays out white-tipped piano keys
caressing the face of the wind
into a rhapsody of flight rising
beyond rippling scales of their musical destinies
of blue sky sailing and coo-cooing the dawn.
then skating into those bow bends
of Hopkin’s aerial ecstasy.
Look. Our fingers spread open to white-tipped
fingernails that play a different tune
and sing too — with fingers that touch
the faces of those we love.