Release

Mourning Doves by Flickr User Goingslo

My bicycle wheels turn.
Roll away stress.
Soft evening. Moist breezes
Blow from the ocean across
Rivers and creeks.

Magnolia and gardenia.
incense in this chapel
cleanse my mind.

Four mourning doves
waddle in the sandy gravel.
As they fly, they voice
a plaintive song,
beat their wings,
call to mind my son.

He never could pronounce
Dub. His childhood lexicon
comprises our family vocabulary.
Speaks to my heart
as I spin into the
reason I went riding.
To release the family
that will not be.

Photo credit: flicker creative commons user Goingslo