wrote this several years ago. it doesn't have a title::dancing_flowers: a dove has decided to build her nest in the right hand corner of the ledge upon which rests the precariously balanced backside half of my PC Richards' summer sale air conditioner. days pass to nights, inching back masking-taped plastic curtains to see [without being seen] her indigo gray head cocked protectively gazing up into my curious eye; an offering of knowing to the unknown. i hear her softly cooing as I bathe an idle body in milk and honey lavender waves created by the beating of one lonely heart married to one restless mind. dawn sounds motherly hope, gently nudging me from incoherent slumbers under purple sheets of unfulfilled dreams and blunders, singing of a soul about to be born just outside my soot-covered, bedroom window.