A white pigeon came perching on my roof. br I watched him daily unfollowing and still; br and neither ate nor filled his craw to trill br the little boulders, but sat fluffed, aloof br br from man and bird, a fixture like a chimney, br or weather cock or lightning rod erect br for decades until some fateful intersect, br perhaps some flock unheard since autumn, dimly br br recollected from all other sound, br remaining on the wasting air like blossom br notes. Meanwhile he’s up there playing possum br on the sharp ridge and in one moment bound.