Roaring Pigeon Cave


Tame Troutcloud musters, seeking interface and eats;
one tests the school, and seeks a new direction
we stroll, seeking new directions also,
and tossing crumbs of life to fetching surface mouths;
we are of this cycle.

Back, poolback, out of common view,
the lowered cavemouth yawns for Earth awaking.
Pale pink phlash, and phlox are massed about my feet;
a step, and glory -- phlox are magicked,
feet dissolve in cloud of flitterblossom,
made eager, clinging butterflies by
spring and eye and wish; I am
surrounded and adored
and utterly
unrecorded.

The cave is roaring, pulsing, as if some
lost biker slept in water overnight,
and tries to kick the liquid life
back into sodden motor;
quick snap-flap miracle, and
a whitened Thing hangs in the air, spread-winged,
and pinned against support I cannot see; he has emerged,
to survey the Kingdom waiting without
what I know now
is Roaring Pigeon Cave.

What set of chaos' accident
has made a perfect chamber
for bird to say,
"Come wiss me to my Cave, My Dear, for I
am ze only 
roaring Pigeon
in ze World?"

He has the advantage
of Mating Magick.
I hear her roar within
and he snaps out
of existence
in a prouder spatter
of Roaring-Pigeon
wing.

It is a Day
of Springing
pleasant things.
It is a Glory and a Lifeing Thing.