A Collared Dove in Lanzarote
She is waiting on my wall
illuminated by the morning sun.
I coo and make a mewing sound.
She tips her head my way to listen.
unsure if flying is a better option.
In your mushroom coat of feathers
trimmed with ermine and ebony,
are you the height of fashion?
Autistic awareness, afraid of change.
Twitching, jumpy: a survivor’s constant state.
You weigh up my next move.
Will I leap and devour you
or simply fill your dish?
Experience has taught you to be hopeful,
Your courage is rewarded and
You don’t stay long.
A survivor is never sated.
That is A DANGEROUS STATE.
As I watch, I wonder
where you go after your daily re-fill.
Do you cross the ocean to Moroccan shores
or gather in dead volcano cones, pecking for the seeds
of parched plants clinging to volcanic ash
as black as your beautiful eyes?
Maybe you don’t go so far
partaking of rich pickings around
Your sojourns are a mystery,
but in your quest for sustenance,
you hone your unfathomable skill
of finding SHELTER AND FOOD.
You’ve become one of millions.
That doesn’t make you any less