these thoughts



these ideas
come in on
low late light
like winter geese.

surprising me suddenly
low, overhead,
with their goofs
and their honks;
their gangly surprises
and the steady chuffle
of individual wingbeats I can hear.

They stay around for the wet and misty months living on stray corn or grain
in these fields of my Winter solitude.

But then, called by early Spring
Climb up
And begin swimming away again in long chains
Faithfully following each other
Without falling from the sky.


I can hear each wingbeat
each insistence
lingering call...


Jesus.
How I desperately need
to just honk
and fly like this...

- Dale Zeretske