Lady
Dove
Is
Building
Her
Nest,
Flying
Without
Rest
From
My
Wintry
Lawn
To
The
Predator
Diverting
Plum
Then,
Calm,
To
The
Spikey
Palm
Across
The
Street.
She
Will
Repeat
The
Gathering
Of
Dried
Grasses
In
Dozens
Of
Passes,
Over
And
Over,
In
The
Service
Of
Her
Dove
Lover.