PATIO
Mourning dove
Perches on the iron railing.
Does it ever lose its balance?
Fall before it opens its feathers
Yet land safely on the ground?
I need to answer these questions
As I’m poised on top of a building.
I’m growing a short dark bill.
My head, though not shrinking,
Feels smaller as it swivels.
My arms turn to wings
Brown, tan, and white
With black spotted feathers
Groomed for my solo flight.
To where? Am I Icarus?
Daedalus has been dead
For a long time. I need to know.
Does the mourning dove
Ever lose its balance?
Because I feel the crash
Of the small squat bird
As if I had attempted
A life-ending flight of my own
Having lost my feathers,
My need to live,
Same as flying.