Tyler Dunston
Mare Frigoris
Originally published in Sheila-Na-Gig
Some mornings I shovel snow
and watch the pigeons vault
from the churchtowers
bewildered by their power
flimsy wings rising
and falling against the gray
the window shutters blink
in amazement at the sudden taking off
of so many birds
scraping against a plane of snow-
marked sky as they angle
toward my garbage bin
they land among the sleet and gravel
and tear at the wet bread rolls
angels from a Hadean earth
hatchlings of a moon so close
their pneumatic bones would glow
like x-rays in its light
8 lines in the Grace Church garden
Originally published in Nimrod International
How’d the rubble get there
fragments of stone, grotesque, and edifice
crumpled in the corner like laundry
the grass around it greener than anywhere else
in the courtyard where someone is deciding
whether to stay in the sunlight a little
while longer or to go and a pigeon is flying
from a rain-black magnolia to the rectory

