Closer to a Colder Point

White pigeons in December aviaries
Coo as the city grinds
Echoing sweetly from their looming perch,
The courthouse roof.
Their sound is like the love of children
Who wish to touch you
In a way no one ever can,
A sound that reminds you of how
Life gets swallowed up in joy,
How internal warmth lights the outside
And the heat prods you harder and faster and closer,
Working to the center of their eyes
By pulling at your own core,
Your only native, understanding.