Poem By Pigeon Post

I hold her, warm
Between my hands,
Wings folded
On plump breast,
Coral legs retracted.

Two pulses of bird–heart —
And up she goes,
A living rocket:
Wheels, then ‘homes’.

Compass and map
Carried in pigeon brain
Point without error
Which direction
And how far.

What words she carries
Strapped to her leg
She cannot ever know.