When Words Split in Two

A small poem about language slipping its leash, where one word becomes two meanings and the sky joins in.

The moment I was reading Reading written on the cover,
the dove dove right above as the dull air grew lover.
A bass bass note rolled up from somewhere under thought,
and the wind wound through the hedge like something almost caught.

A tear tear flashed across the page I could not close,
while a bow bow of light bent low upon the rose.
The minute minute hand kept moving without shame,
making every second second guess its name.

I saw the refuse refuse of the day along the street,
where the content content of the dark and light would meet.
An object object in the sky refused to stay one thing,
and the subject subject of the hour grew feathered in its wing.

Then the evening eveninged, though no such word exists,
and the polish polish of the world came wrapped in mist.
I stood there reading Reading, half in sense, half above,
while the dove dove through the language I had mistaken for love.