AND FLIGHTS OF ANGELS
For Kelly A., 1981-1993
The fragrance of mown grass
haunts summer evenings
and diminuendo the sun subsides
from its noon clangor.
Into such valedictions all that August
your father loosed his homing pigeons
which streaming in long ellipses over
the green-shrouded house appeared
to grief-blurred eyes as white cliché,
heartbreaking in their soaring beauty
and dumb ability always to return.