CHORUS OF GEESE

 

I light the candles and ask

we sit, sip and grade caught fish

according to preparation.

 

Do you know what I see

over the mountain without trying?

Clouds, clouds

and now (with effort)

the wine-filled pedestal,

patio sprinkled liberally with minnow

and seeds.

 

Let’s just whisper, but

imagine a whole flock stopping.

 

They may not care, you say,

for fancy baths, prix fixe.

 

Come closer, though,

beneath my boa. See

the miles I’ve flown?

 

 

 

 

—originally published in Hotel Amerika