A pigeon flew in,

like the wind;

Carrying the world,

in its beak.

I watched her for a while;

Neck arched in sorrowful grace,

wings folded in silence.

Like my dreams,

that do not speak.


I imagined,

that she watched me too;

But I could be wrong.

And then,

Without warning,

or sigh,

She flew. 

Back home, maybe.

Where I, cannot ever be.