The Doves

The doves don’t fly away anymore. Whenever I return to the house, which is also home, they don’t even move away, not in the slightest, but continue to mooch about the front yard, unconcerned. It pleases me that they’re no longer wary of me. But I wondered today if perhaps I’m not really there. If, perhaps, I’ve simply become a ghost, and that’s why they no longer fly away, because there’s nothing to fly from.

5 thoughts on “The Doves

      1. Try breaking it into three stanzas, ending in ‘unconcerned’ ‘…not really there’ and ‘to fly from’. You never know – and it would be fun to try!

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