I look at the feathers
Of a grey dove
The way it shines
In unadulterated light
How soft it would be to the touch
The way she floats on nothing
But her own pure will
I look at the sky and its shades
At different sections of day
Or to count how many clouds
With shining eyes
How did this come to be?
What do I dare to know?
What can I know?
Isabelle Justice 