it’s cold tonight
and the geese have chased the heron from the swamp.
i know this because he’s just flown straight through my line of vision,
looking angry and put out and reminding me
of something i can’t quite name.
it’s too cold to sit outside at dusk
and watch the sunset
but here i am
it’s that hour when the geese
fly in by the hundreds
to crash the party at the swamp
and i’m drawn outside
to the raucous sounds
of miles-traveled cacophony
a sound that will forever
make me smile
and in truth, i came out here
to sit myself down
and have a good cry
but instead
there’s this beautiful sunset
and my big, big smile
painted in place
by the calls and the haws
of this wild night party
thrown by nature herself
(and the theme
is always survival)
it’s cold tonight
too cold for
windows open
and whispers
to that bold sharp cold
half-moon
but in my dreams
the sash stays up
so i can hear
fresh goose gossip
and broken-wing
promise
tempered only by stars
and the dark ripped sky
of autumn’s
celestial rune
…
