Aubade (Inca Dove)
Such delicacy
evokes the evolution of hand
and wing, a growth
reflecting all we’ve come
to know. Two doves
sit on the fence, cold wind ruffling
their feathers. What brings them
to this place of no
shelter, of wind and rain
and clarity defied? Fingers
often remember what the mind
cannot. Silence
complicates our mornings.
This first appeared here in February 2015, and was originally published in The Balcones Review in 1987. Seems I was enthralled with birds back then, too…
O at the Edges 
I so enjoy taking a break in the morning to read your poetry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aw, shucks, Tami. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I also love birds. Beautiful imagery
LikeLiked by 1 person
Birds improve my days! And thanks very much.
LikeLike
1987. That’s a long time back!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It seems like just a few moments ago…
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
Always a treat to read one of your poems. Gets me to take a break and let my thoughts wander….
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Annika. Let those thoughts wander!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful….”silence complicates our mornings” (I relate to that.)
LikeLiked by 2 people
Silence affects me in many ways, depending upon the time. But I’ve yet to find a pattern.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t help but read the last line as “Silence complicates our mournings.”
Beautiful as always, Robert.
LikeLiked by 3 people
I love that reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I feels like it’s suggested by the mood of your piece. About that… I, too, feel the sadness you’ve been expressing lately in your work. But, I hope there’s another ham fried rice poem in your (and our) future.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Oh, I believe these moods are cyclical, even though the accumulated weight of the world’s frustrations looms… If not ham fried rice, something else will pop to the fore. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ouch. Is the hand x-ray from morguefile? I’m sensing, in any case, it’s a subject for more poems to come.
The fingers hold “what the mind cannot,” because they’ve done the necessary work of unfolding to the mornings on behalf of the rest of the body, as a matter of course, in steadfast answer to all our purposes and imperatives upon which we can’t afford to know the extent of our reliance. As surely as there’s no rest for the weary — we owe them our lives.
Your association of (the birds) choosing to occupy a place of discomfort and the morning — talk about an awakening! — (I don’t know… as if there actually were a choice, huh?) makes my breath stop. I haven’t thought to thank my own inner bird for the way it selflessly ruffles itself against the cold for me, even as its heart begs for flight. Wow. *actual tears*
One more thought: 1987??? I’m not sure I wasn’t still writing about pink and purple unicorns back then! Lol!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yep, from morguefile. I do so like the idea of looking beneath the surface. I was probably 27 or 28 when I wrote this – it’s one of a handful of poems that I’ve kept from those days, back when I was just beginning to develop a good sense of wonder. I’m much more likely to quickly admit my ignorance today, willful or not. Then, I was more certain of what I knew. Funny how that is.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great poem! Cool illustrations, too.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, L. The images are from morguefile.
LikeLiked by 1 person
i’ve often looked at my hands & thought what magnificent things they are to have been a major part of what has brought me through life. another thing taken for granted that you illuminate so deftly Robert.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Our bodies are such magnificent machines, are they not?
LikeLike
Another great piece Robert that gets the mind out of its’ comfort zone. Are we slowly losing touch with our senses and heading into the age of the automaton?
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Davy. At the very least it seems we are heading into the age of the impersonal, with more contact via device than in person, even when surrounded by people.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know Robert. I was sat on a train going into London a short time ago. The carriage I was in was full and every person was using a mobile phone. I was sat reading a poetry book. I felt like I was on another planet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And I am as guilty as the next person!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi, I enjoyed your words hence nominated you for 3 days 3 quotes challenge🙂. You have choice to accept or decline. You can check it out at
https://scribbledbym.wordpress.com/2016/10/12/day-2-3-quotes-3-days-challenge/
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks for thinking of me, but I, alas, don’t have the free time to devote to this. I do appreciate the sentiment.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s purely optional, so no pressure 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Once again, the first line hooked me. The coordination it takes to move the human finger from unconscious thought to action, is complicated, beautiful and astounding, all at the same time. I can imagine the mechanisms of flight are just as complicated, and of course, just as beautiful. The delicate movements of hand and wing exemplify thousands of years of evolutionary, genetic memory far beyond the capacity of our brains. Dude, I think I could go on and on the more I think about it. I love your poetry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Sidra. We take so much for granted, but when we think about even the most ordinary things, it seems nothing is quite so simple. The world amazes me.
LikeLike
Interesting poem! Robert, I nominated your for the Three Day Quote Challenge Award. See my post yesterday! I enjoy you poetry. Dwight
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for thinking of me, Dwight, but I don’t have enough free time to devote to the challenge. I do appreciate the sentiment.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is ok. I understand. Keep your good stuff coming! I enjoy your work!! Dwight
LikeLiked by 1 person