I wake and lie in darkness
listening to their sad five flute notes,
their self-soothing before the sun rises.

I think this is what America
sounded like for so long,
when it wasn’t a map.

I love that the dove won’t let me
look at her or him. I love
that it protects its terror.

I feed doves, husbands and wives,
charming couples. I google their lifespan
then sit sadly.

I like to see them visit my restaurant.
I have to spy behind a curtain.
They fly away when they see me

and I am happy. Flee me,
and I will admire your ghost.
This works for people too.