lift

in the snow
i see a dove
and it is dying.

it is cold,
and the white
is so blinding.

there are
broken wings
for as far
as can be seen.

but its breath
is still
rising.

its heart
is still
pumping.

and the rain ...
the rain will be
coming.

soon
the end
will be here
and the dove
can let go
its fear
and the blood
can come misting
from the heavens
like lonely
listless
tears
torn from
heathens.

and the suffering
will finally
be laid
to rest.

when i open
my eyes,
it is my wings
that are
broken.

fly.