Swimming in soft doves,
some gray, some white,
I remember being told to count
my blessings, ignore my thirst.
I never could figure
what to do with the tally.
I follow the wind, long after
discovering it had no sense
of direction, so I can believe
in choice, in choosing.
What would the world have given
me if it hadn’t given doves?
It has so many things to give—
if only I were better at taking!