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Haven
his lean equine face with dust-brown eyes
defines hardship
a gaunt frame
undernourished
he squats on city pavement
there in the crook of his neck and shoulder
a white bird
cradled, stroked
cooing
"I bought the dove with my can money when the pet store
closed."
he shakes his can of coins at me like keys jingling
at locked doors
a delicate coarseness
this vagabond
human haven
for a white dove
something sacred
that's he's obliged to care for
that spikes sustainable
refractive light at how we view others
cut by luck decomposing
as sunlight squeezes into city hatchways
into stories we don't own
into a soiled world that sometimes
falls away like hands from a piano
Poem composed July 3, 2023
Copyright ©
Brian Sambourne
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