In quietness of early dawn
where mourning doves parade...
they somehow see
right through what's gone;
my cloudy gray charade
.
A rainbows seed of fire
was all I had to sow;
but darkness squelches movement
of that concrete rivers flow.
.
I've built a wall of silence
(and my deafness comforts this,)
now words and phrase and poetry
have become a subtle kiss
.
With the sunshine 'ore your shoulder
and a mistiness ahead;
the colors of THAT rainbow
only melt across the dead...
.
...which entices me
to deepen still
this solitude I'm in,
and go below
a place I know;
where the doves will never win.