i wait five days for my pigeon to come back with a note on his leg

he dies on the backroads.
somehow this is something wonderful
raining through the night, thunder and bursting light
the peaceful drizzle of the afterlife just begun
somehow this is something good.

“should like to be the sun and moon,
perform dances that the world watches every night in quiet awe
i wish i had a locket from you, or that you had a locket from me
i’m too fond of lockets
i like that we are each other’s secret keepers
that way we don’t really need physical lockets
to feel as if we hold something from each other
i think that we are sisters
i know that we are sisters
avec tout l’amour”

somehow the death of the pigeon lets me read my letter
without feeling like i lost the war