Mounting the Dove Box
I ordered it online for him and then
I nailed it under eaves where he could see
a pair fly in and out with twigs and when
chicks fledged, they’d wobble, testing wings, and he
would be distracted, maybe feel less pain
but no doves seemed to nest, though one flew in
and we both held our breath. Then heavy rain.
More chemo. He withdrew, black terrapin
that settled in the mud and disappeared
while I sat there and thought about the box.
That fall as days seemed slow and cold, I cleared
out ivy, watched the “v” of passing flocks
while under eaves, a twig cup, half-hewn boat
hung on, like him, unraveling, remote.