Dove Song

Hailey Leithauser

 

Murmurous muezzin, hedge-
hiding, no reason to
silence for never I’d harm
you, not Rueheart, not
Loveliest Throat,
instead have you hand-‑
held, no hawk then
to sight you, no kestrel, no
cause, my Abiding, to fly from
my earshot; my Dawn Call
in coldest, in chiffony wind-
den, in aspen, in linden, your whisper
unfolding, your choir
not sough but a shriving,
a grieving of gladness; now ever
your pipe and my tremor
and ever, my Autumn,
my wrist and your measure.


image: Garden Painting, 30-35 C.E, from Pompeii, House of the Golden Bracelet