Aubade (Inca Dove)


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…


33 thoughts on “Aubade (Inca Dove)

  1. 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!

    Liked 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.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

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