Picasso Used a Pigeon

I expect the whitest dove,

purity as the Spirit breaks apart

firm blue of our ceilinged sky,

a tapered shape, an elegance.

But Picasso was right.

True peace comes

with pretensions shed.

A waddling gait, a persistent

hunger, a messy trail leads us

to each other. Our feathers

are shifty of color, but we like

people and we gather

with our kind. No one sings

our praises as we soften the air

with our short sad songs. Only then

can true grace drift down.

Carol Hamilton lives in Midwest City, Oklahoma. Her forthcoming poetry collection is Shots On (Finishing Line Press).