Spirits

What a fool I was
not to notice the spirits
running beside me in the sun,
lifted out of the trees at night
by the hand of darkness,
dancing on my head in sleep.
And there have been little ones
about my big cat
as she thumps down the stairs.
Around you, bright fairies
at dawn, a little darker at noon,
but always moist, quick, urgent.

I could not see them
for my residence, my constitution,
my name, my Caliphate.

Here they are, like the mourning dove
nesting outside my window at work,
unbidden, working for our peace,
unalloyed,
unlikely to sit at council,
and yet to our opportunity
ever inclined.