The gravel steps shaking
their pigeons, o–
bobble there buddy.

This perfect par, place it on
the lake, the grey weight
whining lakelight is a square

underfooted are my doves
my dove blouse aroused
amongst instituted parlor heads

dove in many dark picnicing
weasel doings and doves of
news inside beans, tidings

look at this duvet they make

the dim lip of the moraine
alternates w/ a smidgen,
a little nest alights the barracks

my sisters always calling
this the hour of the  elderly
my yard of doves,