By Alex Einhorn Santa Monica
Here’s, if you will, a poem I wrote a few winters ago: Sometimes, out my window, mornings in the cool, in the off-white almost-light, a gray Dove sits the horizontal of the balustrade, soft-shuffling his feathers.
Stops. Pours an incredible complexity of sound, a song-surprise, a Muezzin’s Call. Across the way the faithful, the soft-wing allow the enveloping silence.
One returns it note for note, others take it up, while all the mourning floats in the silence.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on July 17, 2008. Read the original PDF.