(I wrote this after my first vigil outside an abortion clinic, this past Saturday...)

the wind cutting a hole through your flesh
through your bones
a hole through your heart
and your insides tremble, numb
you stand on the edge
somewhere behind you, your world
your life
shrunken now
into sound and fury
signifying nothing
signifying something so great it cannot fit
inside of you
it stands outside
and you stand outside yourself
something more
and birds against the sky
pigeons
and one white dove

the wind is an ocean
strange, elusive, ebbing
against your body
breaking you down like a stone
on the seashore
breaking away at your resolutions
you fight, and drop
and rise
you stand on the edge
strange place, where time
forsakes her act and disappears
no longer measured
in the passing
but in the tears
in the falling down
something in the falling is warming
you, steeling you against the wind
cold concrete against young knees
like birds against the sky
pigeons
and one white dove

the wind, relentless
falls down between tall buildings
caught like a current in a riverbed
and you a stone
singing, screaming out to break
the silence
the stupidity of existence
of ignorance
an apple in the hand of a woman
in the wake of a serpent
and on the other side someone walks
and walks on
and your heart screaming, stop
your life screaming, stop
with the birds against the sky
pigeons
and one white dove

the wind is older than the hills
than the buildings
older than your life
the wind will be here when you are gone
what else will you leave behind?
you can’t take it with you
and what you can take with you
they have misplaced
or thrown away
or brought into an old brick building
against an old, cold sky
and you?
what of your life? is it
a voice without a sound?
you tremble, fish and barley loaves in hand
staring back into the eyes
of a world starving, and unaware
but the birds know the sky
pigeons
and one white dove.

the morning breaks over the rooftops
you feel it coming
with all the frailty of a newborn child
all the magnitude of a miracle
warmth, wildness, wonder
against you
and wind breaking, still
against you
taking, still, your breath
colder, but powerless
in the face of warmth
in the face of this sun
that dying ever, never dies
never forsakes its covenant with the sky
and wings flutter, drawing forms
against the sky
pigeons
and one white dove