cemetery and back

When lost in daydreams,
Not much can break my stride.
It’s a beautiful and breezy evening.

I pass a dove with a broken neck.
Barely moving, the bird gazes up to me.
The late sunlight causes her to squint.

A moment later, I shake my feelings.
Round and around the cemetery’s road,
I wonder over a name etched in stone.

He died a week ago today.
A gentle giant, nineteen years old.
Not much can break my stride. But this—

A moment later, I shake my feelings.
Round and around the cemetery’s road,
I wonder if I’ll see the dove again.

The breeze blows leaves over the ground.
Each movement catches my eye,
But I can’t find the dove.