Where did she go, the pigeon

With the moon obstructing her view,

Pecked while picking the corn

I put out to bring them near me

To feel

The flap of their wings

And the purple of the frail necks

My gaze meeting theirs,

Ducking and bobbing orange with the black pupil

Staring furtive.

They trust me now,

They come onto the balcony

Congregating they vie for the grains

Coo cooing coo coooo,

And she was pecked, leaving her with the moon over her eye.  

Infected, I fear, her moon is now a mortal wound.

Yesterday she stayed behind on the roof,

Seeking a solitary morsel in a ray of winter sun

Unsteady under the weight of her eye

A peril to her flight.

Now I look for her in vain,

Her loneness like a flag

Her absence ignored by all but me.

Did she fall from the roof, did she die alone,

Looking at the sky

Wishing she could fly?