What homesteaders are these I asked
I had heard them over my thoughts before

I feared no more contemplative morning time for me
–just their bickering and arguing over who knows what

Their sounds came in through the window, but
they were gone by the time I went looking

I only saw stray debris blown across my entry —
random traces of their haphazard nesting efforts

They must be crazy to want to live here I thought
front row seats to chaos, cars and noisy street people

But apparently my front door transom looked like home
for these two Mourning Doves, giving city living a try

I listened for their cooing, and watched their cast shadows
against the glass as they strutted in their modest dwelling

For a brief time we shared this house, but within a day or two
storm winds vanquished their nest and they vanished