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At first, we liked to describe them
as doves.
The white pigeons who came to live
at this house.
Appearing first as a circle with wings,
then some blessing pulled the circle in,
so that its center became our house.
Now in these eaves
a benediction of birds.
Their nervous hearts
in sync enough
with our rhythms
they enter into this house.
So sometimes in the middle
of doing some woman's thing
I look up to find us
in a new painting.
House in a rock
with wooden floors
a boy and white pigeons.
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