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when doves cry
it's usually early
as day starts turning
over
when the air around is as heavy as
seas
in your chest
feelings are intermixed
between despair
and hope
like the sea
when your odds are in a bottle,
scribbled futilities tossed to the waves,
exit on the backside
of tides
until they resurface
with old whale stench
one out of water
tanning
under a hard sun
doves cry
in the shade
of mahogany trees
between noon and three
when my mother's mother's
roundabout
nonsense
lyrics
"Moses speak_God's word
Isaac too"
come fresh
to me
the doleful
doves
portend cardinality
begging adulterers
to repent
"Feathery Prophets!"
grandmothers had spoken
that death will walk
into this village,
some house, any hour,
more sure than May rain,
taking stock
and mourners...
and choirs...
and pastors preach
and pray you well
while you sleep
later we'll all fall asleep
Copyright ©
Trina Layne
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