Dove in a Squall Had one imagined them chiseled from marble or cast in bronze, the dove’s splayed talons might have grasped at more than straws. Caught in a squall, lured to that losing gamble by a lull in the wind they couldn’t make head or tail of, wings that proved themselves not wholly unflappable tacked and tumbled to no end, their tragicomic choreography a momentary marvel. As in some classical paradox, approach after approach came up just short of its perch, till the bird trailed off in parabolic resignation, seeking more private failures and consolatory skies, where peace were…