Why would I not stop and gaze
on the sidewalk beside the orthodox church
as the Sunday morning faithful file inside

The sky the color of water, scoured of clouds
Two cassocked priests, heads bowed,
confer in soft tones, in an unfamiliar tongue

Until I catch their attention, standing,
still, staring, my eyes cast upward
they imagine I’m lost

Can I help you? one calls to me
Are you looking for someone?
I shake my head, give a wave

And watch as the sky is scribed by
the silent flight of five dozen pigeons,
spiraling, aimless, moving as one

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