The Wild Geese

their wings
like great flapping blankets
when someone is trying
to put out a fire
flap

flap

flap

do they see me down here?
a creature still learning the ways of the world
unlike the geese
silver in the moonlight
ghosts of beauty and heart stopping composure
that make my heart skip a beat

blasts of sound and music escape from their rough yellow beaks
beating down on me like sunlight
or music
or hope

they glide through the air like
smooth silhouettes
or shadows of clouds
maybe

I don’t think humans think much about the lives of
creatures smaller than us
like geese,
with their feathers
like soft wool ready to be spun
into a blanket for a child

I don’t think we believe
as much as we should
in miracles


“which never happen”
says the professor who
exists in a world full of
labels and proof and paperwork


“well look at the wild geese”
I say “look at them flying so high and
never questioning the
urges they feel
to flee and
be free again”

I ask him if he’s ever felt that restless and
he says no but
I don’t believe him
as his eyes wander to that
anonymous goose feather
rolling around in the
hot air waves

forlorn and abandoned
and craving freedom