Your hope and optimismlike two pigeons
on a cedar branch
cooing in the morning's wake.
They flap their slow wings
with the graceful effort
of birds who do not soar
high above the forest
who must submit to gravity
close to earth's prickly shrubs, cliffs
and green meadows.
Hope and optimism are not light and airy
they are creatures of blood and bone
picking through grit and dirt
for anything they can use.
Mortal in pain
immortal in flight.
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