Listening Experience

I left my friend behind

when I moved away.

Each evening at dusk,

he'd call from my rooftop

and sing me his lullaby.

I'd sing back

as best I could.

I know I wasn't very good,

but every summer evening

he returned anyway

and listened intently

in his birdish way.

He faced west,

watching the sunset

from my roof every evening.

One day it occurred to me

that maybe his calls

were a celebration

for the show the sky would send.

But it sure seemed

those songs were meant for me,

from my white-winged

little friend.

He'd find me in the pool,

floating beneath the sky

painted pink and gold.

He'd call to say hello,

then almost plead

for me to answer back,

as though our little game

mattered to him too.

His song would drift

across the rippled water,

past reflections of party lights

and evening's gentle glow,

waiting to be celebrated.

I'd answer back,

and we'd play our little game

for half an hour

at the end of each day.

I wonder now,

since I've been gone,

if he still calls at dusk,

still sings his song.

Is there anyone

in that house that used to be mine

who will take the time

to hear his winged words

sailing into the evening air?

Has he found another friend

who will meet him there?

I think about my northern friend,

the crisp cool nights,

the pool water warmed just right,

and the songs we shared.

My friend the dove,

I loved playing with you,

meeting you

during our evening

rendezvous.

I left you

without a goodbye.

Now I have southern wings

buzzing at me

each morning,

again and again.

No song.

No coo.

I don't sing a word.

I don't say hello,

we just stare at each other,

then off he'll go,

my acquaintance,

the hummingbird.

And there is this crane

sitting on my fence,

peering at me,

looking my way,

flirting, I'd say.

This crane needs to do more

than stand there

with his tall, handsome appeal.

It will take time,

but you'll never be replaced,

my friend the dove.