The Dove (Echoes Homeward)

Catastrophe draws echoes homeward
Consequence of some physically absent
Law of the labyrinthian otherworld

The master’s vorlage
Where came our gross and vegetative
State, this system of


We wake in fright, expecting
States of affairs to change
And us—our nerves, our brains, our
Flimsy packages of blood and flesh
To become the dove that descends,
On Christ perhaps,
Light and fire
For us to lift like wind
That churns the litter of the outside spaces
Creating more than matter—
Life besides experience
Like symbols, stuck on a note
That says one thing a thousands ways

And we become that letter droning on and
sending messages to loved ones home
—I am gone
—I am alone
—I am free

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!


Gabriel Muoio




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