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Two pigeons perch on long graphite lines, drawn across the weather.
Space in between them for a third.
One staring at the other’s feathers.

Below, stretches a plethora of greens.
One bird asks the other: “Where is the third?”
The other does not answer, lost in his dreams.
Silence, falls upon them, disturbed only by passing trains.

Below, stretches a plethora of greens.
The other bird, speaks: “Where is the third?”
The first does not answer, unsure of what it means.
“I -” he speaks, but cut off by another train.

Below, stretches a plethora of greens.
The first ponders, before reaching a conclusion.
The first moves close, filling the empty space.

Two pigeons perch on long graphite lines, drawn across the weather.
Space beside them for a first.
One staring at the other’s feathers.

Below, stretches a plethora of greens.
The other bird, speaks: “Where is the first?”
The other does not answer, lost in his dreams.
Silence, falls upon them.

The first flies away, away from the graphite and into the hillside.
Leaving the second, wide eyed.