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Poet:  B J Buckley

Those fat rock doves everyone scorns

for their desecrations of pompous

statues and the shiny finishes

of expensive cars, their unrepentant

congregations around park benches

wheedling our scraps, dropped crusts and soggy

french fries, puffed up and strutting like small

generals mustering feathered armies –


miraculous chuff and burble, cloud-soft

storm against our ankles – how varied

voltages of sunlight anodize

their plumage, refractive rainbow

glitter at the throat – and when they lift

to leave us, graced by instantaneous

computation of location and direction –

by magnetic resonance, by sun, by star,


by infrasound: reverberations

of deep ocean waves across vast

distances through water, soil, stone:

then turbulence as delicate as bumble-buzz

disturbs the atmosphere, and brings them home.

B. J. Buckley is a Montana poet and writer who has taught in Arts-in-Schools and Communities programs throughout the West and Midwest for more than four decades. Her chapbook, In January, the Geese, won the Comstock Poetry Review's 35th Anniversary Chapbook Prize. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Grub Street,  Dogwood, Vita Poetica, Calyx, and Aesthetica, among others.  More information and sample poems are on her website: