A white pigeon came perching on my roof. <br />I watched him daily unfollowing and still; <br />and neither ate nor filled his craw to trill <br />the little boulders, but sat fluffed, aloof <br /> <br />from man and bird, a fixture like a chimney, <br />or weather cock or lightning rod erect <br />for decades until some fateful intersect, <br />perhaps some flock unheard since autumn, dimly <br /> <br />recollected from all other sound, <br />remaining on the wasting air like blossom <br />notes. Meanwhile he’s up there playing possum <br />on the sharp ridge and in one moment bound. <br /> <br />When both our dreams and memories are spun, <br />what holds the stillness for a living one?<br /><br />Edward Wright Haile<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mysterious-visitor/
