geese redsky.

morning, skyred skin
drawn across a beginning, grass
taut with frost, the clarity of the edge of things
as if rendered by an engraver’s point
an irregular V of geese passes
like beads of an animated  rosary,
each a honking Hail Mary
a striving prayer
an individual articulating dot
an I-am of

we are moving south
we are honking like hell
we are drifting up and down
in a wandering V together
to reach some destination
by a means coded in our cells
by a wisdom unknown
by an accident or lovely intention
on a whim or a want
on an updraft or drawn down
by a turn in the weather

we have been drawn and
are moving on implacably
as life moves

Jim Culleny
December 4, 2009

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