When the ash wing dove
dips my way
on the day
that is my last
I will float
onto its feathered back
lean low
steady, ready
to soar into
the near unseen
a teardrop
in someone’s eye
a sigh
in someone’s breath
an ache
in someone’s chest.
The ash wing dove
flies closer
to the sweet place
landing from memory,
standing on
the unmarked target,
ascending
to the far world again as
my voice drops away
my eyes settle deep
inside me and
my body is a flash of gold.
Dedicated to my mother Suzie O’Neil and my ex-husband, Bob Speer.
