The Theory of the Carrier-Pigeon

The Theory of the Carrier-Pigeon

A boy wearing a tunic stained brown lets me go
I leave two in-bitten marks on his hand,
A parting gift to remember me by.

I fly low enough to see my way
Over the scattered thatched roof villages
With roofs mawed open to receive the sunlight
Little wind-up cattle running in fields
Made green and copper by the dying sun.

Still, I fly on
To other dimensions yet to be,
Yet to come.

Now, where am I?
I see knights fighting on horseback
For Kings none believe in
Toiling on back of sweating horses,
Falling in the mud full of blood.

Flying on to brush-stroked sunrise
I see Bruges bathed in pink
Skim the canals, flutter the water with birdwing
There I pass by Van Eyck's window
See the Arnolfinis standing there
Clad in fine regalia.

I am a bomber now,
Flying over Britain fields
Heart a whirring motor
Upchuck the bombs from my chest
For soon I must rest.

Transformed into a plane
With modern pterodactyl wings
Rolling in spumes of cloud
I see my destination now!

A man in a wheelchair
Beetling on the lawn
Arm outstretched to recieve the news I carry
A corollary
To Stephen Hawking, sitting.

He says:
"Finally!
Proof of the Multiverse,
Proof of the Theory of the Carrier-Pigeon!"