Like clothespins holding socks on a backyard line,
\nor nylon knots between beads of a hand-made necklace,
\npigeons perch high above the city skyline.<\/p>\n
Each blue-black marker holds a space,
\nas if hands took pains to order them,
\nplaced them with a precision
\nthat prevents pecks and squabbles.<\/p>\n
Is it instinct that positions pigeons so?
\nOr did they, like us, learn it was safer to stand apart?
\nIs it respect or survival that dictates space?<\/p>\n
As sentinels surveying the scene,
\ntheir feet grasp lines that transport pulses,
\ncarry our stories, our longings to connect.
\nThey teeter on criss-crossing telephone wires
\nthat allow us to technically touch.<\/p>\n
Perhaps it is stepping too close to one another that parts us,
\nperhaps stepping closer would prevent it.
\nOn this wire I long to see
\none brave, or foolish, bird sidle up to another,
\nan avian Gandhi willing to risk a poke
\nor a peck on the cheek.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Like clothespins holding socks on a backyard line, or nylon knots between beads of a hand-made necklace, pigeons perch high above the city skyline. Each blue-black marker holds a space, as if hands took pains to order them, placed them with a precision that prevents pecks and squabbles. Is it instinct that positions pigeons so? … <\/p>\n