The Underwings of War

National Pigeon Association, England, 1940 Notch. Web. And then, down the shaft, lesser wing coverts and marginal coverts, and soft, greater underwing coverts — although never as great as greater under-primary coverts, gray-coated and down-plumped, trailing what might reveal a pattern just over the down that might support a secrecy. Launched from double-decker buses, or attic windows, or the dark roofs at Bletchley Park, the lesser pigeons, always first to find the fray, sport black metallic canisters strapped to matted lapel feathers. And tucked inside, like Russian dolls, a cipher’s hollow chambers — down and down, a Fibonacci spiral, a paper nautilus of words and codes and keys that shift with each decipherment. The bard is in the wand— read space as shape, read a as i— the key takes subterfuge, that doubling, double agency when tomfoolery is crossed with rage. But these are simply carriers, word-burdened, instinct- tossed, searching for the perch within a blasted atmosphere. Find forms, the message says, and everything will fall in line. The bird is in the wind