I was balanced inside a dove--
I spoke but a belch of red flame

escaped my mouth and the dove
rose in rosy twilight

and answered from memory
calling your name, next--

and I heard your number
wash from another dove

its mate I think. Then there were
a dozen in white sand.

A spotted fawn emerged
and its twin, fixed against

the invisible village
where fifty silver wisps

essenced the air.
Will they ever see their way

to the sweet mud leading
from the grove of scarred oaks?

We must feast and starve
at the same time

if we ever expect
to join them—