Early light etches fiery blades
from wooden boards
and opens bitter lemon doors.
Into a realm of swept passageway
and time worn concrete.
Sweet scents of summer straw
and still green hay.
The gentle mist of warm equine breath
and a marmalade cat stretching
like a python on a square of carpet.
He steps into the spotlight.
Motes dance like cascading stars
or arctic ice,
this is not some pompous iridescent
waist coated wastrel of a pigeon
But a serious, solemn,
and sombre immigrant.
A collared pastor
from the darkest coast of Africa,
Come to spread the gift of summer.
He doesn’t strut but strides
on a harness polished rail.
Neat pink talons
tap a fluttering dance of settling.
his soapbox gained he preens.
His body smooth as
Or as carved of pink flushed
His neck the gentle curve
of a lovers shoulder
shot through with the blistered blood
of trappers hands.
His eyes black beads scan the views
of nervous rats on high rickety rafters
licking paws and slicking whiskers
And mischievous mice cutting origami toys
from ragged stolen sacks sucked dry.
He coos his early sermon
to the gather congregation.
He speaks of the pride of fancy tumblers
and the boastful vanity of
white Barbary doves
Condemns the hybrid swaggarts
of magic shows.
He extols the virtues of dryness.
The aridness of the desert sands.
The holy guardians of the land of palms.
But no one listens to a word.
The orange cat eyes the exotic interloper,
judges distance and reward
as too much effort.
Stretches, sheathing claws for later use,
on starlings nesting in the roof