knew flight over waters when all there was was wet, the ark lost behind the smooth arch of wings, only a thin line of air between green sea and grey sky, then forever and forever washed up with the slap of wave against wave. What weariness to circle the same expanse, the echo of rain, even the wind unable to land, looking, looking.
pale shadow tracing the raven's soar above an earth-turned-sea, sought for seven days any inch of dry, found only its owner's chapped hand.
The second week, its flight fingered the tops of waves that fingered the tops of trees, releasing, finally, twigs of green ready for the dove's sleek beak.
Its last journey knew no U-turns, just a straight flight to elsewhere brimming with bushes, drenched orchards hungry for song, hallelujahs hanging from every waiting bough.