In His Beak an Olive Branch

Come, chosen ones, admire the pigeon:
Urban and secular, he perches
On houses of religion—
Mosques and synagogues and churches.

He mounts the mane of Mark the Lion
But coos no Latin to the lambs;
Incognizant of Zion,
He occupies its hexagrams.

Pillared in aniconic space,
He rules his roost and cannot care
Which way the faithful face
Or what name hastens them to prayer.

Mecca, Jerusalem and Rome—
So much gibberish to a brain
Deprived of words for “home,”
“Hereafter,” “sacred” and “profane.”

Whichever God we summon as judge,
The pigeon can take no offense
And never bears a grudge.
Come, let us envy his innocence.

Aaron Poochigian

Redmer Hoekstra