The Voice of the Woodpigeon

The distress in the voice of the woodpigeon
gives it a human cadence, its song
a disembodied embrace of all the grief
to come, or that has been.

For a spell, it dries, as if the tears began,
but it resumes as the night continues
into morning. Ah, morning! Was there ever
a sadder word? Or a more fitting bird?

Shakespeare’s Other Grave

Shakespeare's Grave   On the very day it was proven that William Shakespeare’s grave had been disturbed soon after burial, I purchased Oliver, my lovely green parrot. A strange coincidence, for I came to believe that Oliver was the reincarnation of the Bard himself. Continue reading “Shakespeare’s Other Grave”