hold a pigeon.
Your hands will 
dewdrop with sweat
as you cradle
its faint form,
press back its nails 
to prevent injury.

But still,
its pendulum heart 
will tick against the 
fingers imprisoning 
its ribcage, flattening 
its feathers, folding in
its talons. 

Like pigeons, 
our brains and bodies
click against the
clatter of the heavens
holding us —
with how much care,
we do not yet know.