Berners’ Doves

When dawn pinches the top branches
between thumb and forefinger,

the Balsam shivers just for a moment
before trees’ night shadows liquefy

as light enters their cage —
it’s then I would like his turquoise doves,

rose pink doves and lime green doves
to burst from the hawthorn thicket,

cross the dim lawns to the Field Maple
I planted ten years ago

to roost there, murmuring to one another
long enough for me to count them.

Christopher North