Dove in a tree
Above David and me.
"Just Point and squeeze,"
I am whispering.
Watch her spin
Towards the ground. Crimson!
But I've only hit her wing.
She is walking, cooing.
Here come the dogs,
Those filthy dogs,
To drag her off
And tear her up.
I pick her up in my hands
And wipe her blood of in the hot desert sand