question marks sprout from a heavy head

untamed, blameless, every,

everywhere

united,
a dove rests in nervous palms

the boys eyes were down cast,
fearing those who perceive

before he would have waited
till either party disappears

till he breathed worthwhile air,

shared a care.

a dove rested in the palms of his
hands and as he grew older he
learned to look, pleadingly,

into eyes of the needy,
exchanging the truth that he
never wanted to believe.

he spoke words of a belletrist,
praying that they would
melt away and become some
thing more.

something more
something
more

as he grew older, the question marks
scathed and were reborn a thousand times
over. he moved his hands forward

now knowing
better; now knowing
nothing,

offering the dove of vivid love,
swallowing his calloused mind
to ease his grip.

from not at all to
too soon to
the memory of how his dove

could fly so fearlessly toward
the Beloved and how the wind
blew exceedingly and the rain
poured repeatedly, rotting dogmas,

would be his deathbed
comfort; his deathbed
lament

the dove sought to
land stead fast in the palms of
loving hands, where it would
nestle and seek precious eyes
and warm hearts

It would reveal its secret in
a low croon, whispering as
it prepared to
fly
away

"He is..."

Her eyes widened,
her heart leaned forward
so that it may hear,

"needy."

his dove tried to return
to her hands, but it was
rebuked and wounded
and hurt

It returned, daring through
elements once more, reaching
the boy, again.

vivid love turned
livid love and the
dove saw the boys
hands and had
nothing left but
a collapse

the dove
landed but
it had
changed
from something
breathing and
defiant to
the whitest flag and

it was waved, then waived,
then waved, again.