thirteen pigeons
on the performing arts center roof
not performing yet centered
near the apex of the pyramid
dark against early november dusk
gracie rolls in the clover
outside the deserted library
leaves stick to her thick coat
bury themselves in her beard
but she smells momentarily sweet
the honor society inductees
and their smiling families
vacate the auditorium in clusters
across the campus their chatter
wafts on the warm, leafy breeze
the pigeons still stand guard
over the sleepy sunday afternoon
occasionally a wing flashes dull green
or one marches chaplinesque
down or back up the slanting
i release gracie from her leash and
lie down in the bright leaves
outside the english building, pile
them over and around me
no one’s found me yet
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