On shallow slates the pigeons shift together,
Backing against a thin rain from the west
Blown across each sunk head and settled feather.
We came across these pigeons in Paris, one freezing cold February. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold. They were huddled on this grate, taking advantage of warm air rising from the Metro. I was very tempted to join them, but we sought refuge in a museum instead.
