the homing pigeons are racing tonight
intuition alone
shelters their flight
the shaman corks his bottles of thunder
and knows what grows
if you plow your name under
the weaver unravels the work that she'd done
then hums a hum
patient her lover will come
the doctor checks his pulse at the door
rings the bell
and dives for the floor
the gardener waters and waits
pruning his worries
and weeding his fates
the boxer swings and knocks himself out
and swears to his wife
that inside is out
the policeman's locked in the slammer
but plots his escape
with his grandfathers hammer
the sweeps and the swallows consider their fate
the students are seated
but the teacher is late
the homing pigeons are racing tonight
intuition alone
shelters their flight