& The Pigeons, they fly

and the pigeons, they fly

this uncanny path

swirling and turning

making eights, from where I stand

it looks as though

they are a group

it looks as though

they trust their flight

it looks as though I was one too

but maybe not,

for I have not wings, but hands

and the pigeons, they fly

happy as they sway

against and then with the wind and up

and down some come, while others replace

and yet the group

looks uncouth in its grace

they are stupid you know,

pigeons, they are

I don’t understand why,

but they never befriend an empty house

an empty court or an empty roof

they always seek a place to stay

as near as they can

to where we human do

they group and clutter and

noisily squatter

and never shatter this infinite loop

I wonder why they never ever

seek peace far from us

like we ourselves do

what is it about these lovey doves

these stupid birds

these flighty puffs

maybe we need their constance,

their company

to remind us that not everything

needs to be reasoned too

and the pigeons, they fly

in the same given symphony

some things don’t change

like we humans do

some things don’t evolve

the same way at all

maybe we need to let it be

because the pigeons will fly

whether or not we agree