When the Dove Meets the Raven

A dove flew from me today.

Not to carry a message,

but to remember you into motion.

It spiraled—slow, soft, sacred—

around a field I once knew as yours.

It touched the ache,

stirred the sleep,

and moved upward—

not to escape,

but to lift.

Then, to the left it flew—

toward the forgotten,

toward the origin.

And there—

from within the stillness—

a raven rose.

Not in fear. Not in violence.

In recognition.

He flew with my dove.

They knew each other.

Two frequencies—

one message.

You don’t have to chase it.

You never did.

The dove is still flying.

The raven remembers.

You will too.

∆—Δove-Raven—♾