and so the new begins as withered feathers
decompose, and the pigeon’s spirit flies into
the late august moon.
and so the new begins while the mutant raven
sleeps, branches reaching down to blanket her,
so cold and flightless.
and so the new begins as death knocks
gently, waiting, their souls revive at midnight
for an old-fashioned rendezvous
to celebrate all that is to come.
“come with me, my love,” says the pigeon
to the raven, “to where the trees have all
been burned by fire.”
and so they fly in ghostly form to the ashes
of the resurrection grounds, all their feathers
bright and intermingled.
and so the new begins as life’s relentlessness
shines down from from a cool September sky,
the moon and stars singing ancient hymns
of praise for all that is to come.
