Arabesques: No. 3, Fading

Imagine where this dove will go;

Imagine when her wings turn grey,

When her call grows old.

Will she turn to the mirrors of young sparrows

Who slide into delusion?

Or will a deaf sparrow offer her

A perch to sing?

How will she apologize to a traveller

Wanting to stroke her feathers

When the flock scatters?

How will she strut through the courtyard

Or impress the grass?

Will she look for a kind boy to grind her

A grain of wheat,

Or an old flame to relight ageing passions?

Perhaps she will divide her sadness

Between a window and a metal cage.

Perhaps she’ll become a professional mourner

At the funerals of birds.

Imagine where this dove will go

When the trees donate their lowest branch.

Imagine when neighbours

Are indifferent to her past, fading.