Dove

you're waking me
as I'm taking you in.
watching over the trash man's rejected gifts
you've caught my ear in your beak,
and my heart is in my throat.
I remember you from Friday-
you sang your elegy for my lungs
while I galloped though the morning smoke to work.
now it's Sunday afternoon, I'm late.
you've been idle on the power line for days,
the chimneys have coloured you.
I'm mumbling to the pillow about life-
you're my child,
and you build your voice with wooden blocks.
I've lost my mind, crying angelic thing
and I'm screening calls
as you're cooing through the telephone lines,
chiding my unemployment with your sigh.