A peace of doves befell her there
beside her eyes, within her hair,
around her arms, across her waist,
about her legs, as winglets traced
quiescent airs where tension pressed
its heavy breath against her chest.

At first she fought them off with wrath
because they swayed her from her path,
the one she walked too many years
while wallowing in sneers and tears,
but as she softened, welcomed ease,
a plumage grew within that breeze
enfolding her from head to toe
uplifting feet to float and flow.

One day, she flew. Some heard her sing
beyond the pines, above the wring
of traffic jammed well out of sight
before the anguish of red light,
where many wished they took a flight
instead of steering into night.