Storm v1

On my lap, a roughened box and

in it, a peace formed faultless cream-

smooth brown soft as a petal, graceful

as soaring and which my dog

has caught, carried proudly in her

follow-me-everywhere-smiling

mouth. And now peace is wounded

a small blotch of flesh

pushing through the feathers

smaller than a newborn's

fist smaller than a dime

has castrated peace's flight.

And so we drive, holding

peace on my lap through

a glowering sky in hope

of flight's grace once again.