Pigeon Keepers by Paul Gallagher

Pidgeon keepers, when I was a boy,
  Would coop their birds on rooftops, far above
  The noise of New York streets, masters of
The glowing heights at sundown. It was joy
That drew them up through skylights to deploy
  Their waiting flocks in sudden lift and move;
  Two hundred birds together soared and dove
In air serene that nothing could annoy.
And when their rising forms in the evening light
  Shone so much whiter than they were in truth,
Wheeling in weightless silent turns ‘til night
  Then workday was forgot; and we in youth
Gazed up from out of windows, far and deep,
And dreamed of the turning heavens in our sleep.

Featured in New Lyre Summer 2023

Image courtesy of Pixabay