, , ,

there’s something new for

you as you wait in

the courtyard, for your

friend, who is returning with

the necklace, wounded, but alive.

He mimics a dove across a

a piazza, the flapping wings,

like gun shots.  How

will you ever be home again?  You

ask him, if his wife will be lonely

during her pregnancy, but he

insists that it is his pregnancy too.