Four Cawing Doves

Three dead ends.
Two.
One machine to travel in.
How dare you damage it
willfully.
Save yourself.
Spreading brush fires;
save yourself.
Why would you seek to harm me?
I have done nothing you know.
When you break down.
When you die.
I will not help you,
and the sun will rise tomorrow. 

Patricide

A funny way
to think about
how water in the air
catching and bending light
when the sun rises over the hills,
500 miles and more away,
some light spilling
across the Allegheny's ripples,
is that it is one more day
and
one more day forgiven.