Pigeon's Secret

Young pigeon,
Where is your nestmate?

Where is the drowsing huddler,
His curve your curve,

White down to down,
Gray flesh to flesh, one

Warm, dry, after egg's
Slimy solitudes?

Your hearts whirred
Like synchronized stopwatch's.

Each of you filled
The other's black eye.

You will fly up, pigeon,
You will perch and scan and peck.

He dropped, became a crooked scrawl
Of pigeon on his aluminum landing pad.

After eggs. White, round, the perfect
Thumbprints of emptiness.