Pigeons

a flock of white and grey pigeons
           perhaps thirty or more
flying in low circles back and forth
           over a piece of open ground
close to the railway line
           and as they veer into the sunlight
the white pigeons
           are suddenly illuminated
and for an instant their wings
           are the wings of angels
bearers of the holy spirit
           testimony to the beauty
of creation on this frosty
           afternoon

and all around me
           are signs and signatures
the greeting in an infant’s eyes
           two lovers on a park bench kissing
a desiccated rose that has struggled
           through the winter months
to remain attached to its stem
           the pace of life that goes on and on
and the hope I harbour
           that she will never let me down

John Lyons