Listening to the pigeons fuck on the fire escape or wherever it is on the other side of the window they rendez-vous --
I've never actually seen them but once in High School Petra told me that was the sound they made,
The sound I heard this morning through the windows and the rain-soaked light and the butter colored curtains.
This is the week before I start work
The morning after the night we went to walk around Bernal Hill in the wind
Whipping so hard it knocked words out from between our teeth
And several years after I began to try and fail to write a poem called "Darwin's Pigeons"
A poem to explain what exactly was so special about those birds
That he saw within their "carunculated skin" and "elongated eyelids," their "enormously developed" crops and "short conical" beaks,
The very mechanism of life
Saw them the way we would all like to be seen
In time, in series, in slow circles elaborating a single dropped rock
Their very features evidence that even
The gestures we do not intend have meaning.
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