On a soaring hawk's wing,
distant vistas shadow;
we hover over the precipice
of our shielded tomorrows
Two, yoked turtle doves
in budding Spring; satin feathers
nestle on virgin ground
to incubate their desires
Now, tweeting songbirds
serenade the short Summer;
through thin, golden veils
libidinous portents swell
Shortly, two searching Nightingales:
braille in the dark, Fall night,
rendezvous at the Primrose fork,
peer into moth-drained well
Later, two, scavenging crows,
perched on a high wire,
seek Nature's chaff
to survive Winter's dearth
In due course, two, clinging Robins,
in all seasons tightly paired;
the orange zest from each breast
succors two, bleeding hearts