Lofts

[eclipse]

Each morning the birds returned through the Humber mist

And the endless nights, they burned as German planes hissed

My patient silent wife would sweep the crumbs and bomb debris-

My vision halved in the battle of Gallipoli

While the dead only doubled in the vicious spree

The wife would feed my pigeons so dutifully

Back home, to my birds, I confessed all my sins

With the beating of their wings, they cooled the fires within.

from a fascist's loft I helped keep England free

with these birds I would swap visions of history

This loft of pigeons gradually replaced my lost eye

they would return with sights from the Humber every day

in my birdhouse former colleagues shared stories of war

on a night flight pigeons traveled to a distant shore

then they scattered images of battles stored

and out of my colleagues the dreams poured

each dreaming soldier was represented by a bird.