Doves

Two white doves are making love
like for ever
in the summertide of this passion.

The air is orange
in the dimming shine of feathers.

A prime sunny day
falling
from the citrus branches
on an unfolding purple lily
of eventide.

Now in the air,
sun dusts on their wings, on their beaks,
soaring in the crest of horizon
all golden,
sinking in the ashes
of bruised twilight.