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Behind The Mews
By Taylor Graham

The first time you heard doves in the morning
through the window of your cousin's house,
you thought it was the sound first-love forces
into fig trees as they grow, into their leaves
and fruit, so they drop, not quite ripened,
not nearly perfect: a curtained sound of ache
from the brighter, blinding side of glass.
Your cousin tugged a pillow over her eyes,
and sighed for sleep and missed the moment,
like something that passes every morning,
too common to remark.




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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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