Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
As New Yorkers arise from sleep,
a flexing flock of pigeons sweeps
the rooftops of yellow-brick Brooklyn
and circles Bensonhurst by the sea,
their keeper standing by the coop,
eyeing every dip and swoop,
entranced by the white-and-gray whir
of their wings, a salt-and-pepper
semaphore signing the sky at dawn.
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