The thought of home lingers
in iron feathers aligned
to a remembered course,
only lacking direction,
you nest upon a lyre and
eat raisins from my hand.
I have never had a familiar place
to return to, adrift to remain
in the exhaustion of flight,
no meaningful feature upon a landscape
to follow, a pointless sun.
The sudden rise and clap
of wings of disturbance in a field,
your tuneless rattle and coo,
a pigeon's omnipresence; the repulsion
of the seemingly unremarkable.
I have sought redemption,
no wine to my lips, no bread,
but blinded, have choked
instead, on love. What distances
you might have covered
if you had departed, or the number
of soldiers you could have saved,
I wonder, even as a broken bird,
and now, my message, tied to one leg
is an apology, I never meant to
cage you, fly away then -
you were always free.
Image is from here: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Paillou._Pigeon.png
Also on Twitter: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anacreon_Louvre.jpg
https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cher_Ami_cropped.jpg - the stuffed pigeon is Cher Ami, pigeon heroine of WW1...