NaPoMo 2012 Day 1 Poem

Mourning Doves

I thought they were called morning
doves until I heard one day how their light
caw carries
carried
had carried
and I could hear
chest puffed and eyes clouding
how they mourn.
It wasn't until someone
was lost that I started to hear them
at dusk, or on a sunny after
noon above a family eating on the grass,
sometimes even in the gray night,
as I let a sharp wrap of February wind
carry me.