My Mourning Dove
I remember the day you left me,
by Heath Harrington
the sweet smell of first bloomed tulps
filled the air and moist droplets of dew
slid down each of my toes. I carried you
through the morning mist, you were warm
I felt the hair on my arms rise and fall, a
static somba, this was it.
Time to let go.
my chest sank under the wave of fear.
Would you fall?
could you fly?
I should have done more.
I lifted your body to the golden sun in praise.
then it happened
my hands burned with invisible energy.
at once your weight was doubled and then you were gone, I can still feel the sensation of that last touch.