The he-dove scampers on pink legs
around and around her,
drags his wings along the ground like a matador his cape
sings low, almost guttural: “Coo-ah-cooo-cooo-coo.
"Her body is plain, brown, still.
She seems to watch and listen,
responds in a whisper “Coo-coo."
His ruff rises like hackles,
the faint blush on his breast blossoms into lilac.

Now she approaches him,
inserts her slender stem of a bill within his.
They bob up and down, up and down,
joined in this cadence.

With a flap of wings he mounts her,
touches cloaca to cloaca,
for one instant, one mass of feathers.
He dismounts. She begins to smooth
his light brown wings, and he hers
Suddenly, wings whistling, they are gone.
I turn to your touch, light fingers in my hair...