Bird Like

I am a sliver of cerulean silk tossing in the river,

Bogged down and inevitably drowned by this

Ill-fated imitation.

I am borne on the wings of a dove

Who’s long forgotten now its purpose.

Bear me in a better beak,

A hawk’s or vulture’s, at least,

For the dove shall conquer

Purposelessness—and I!—

In one fell swoop.