Above flowing brown waters
past the last minutes of sun’s light
the geese hold a ribbon of sound
that takes me with them into evening sky
In their fold of brotherhood
strapped to invisible currents
lost in the last pointed star’s reach
knowing direction by unwritten instinct
They follow ancient echoes
in the fantasy of their call
shredding sound like guileless music
into the long low growl of something wild
Written on vellum from broken trees
the sound strips my tongue of its hold on earth
and slings the arch of my inevitable smile
over the wild open jasmine of time itself
I see as geese do the river
because the sky to my eye
is what geese see
Sound holds them together
formation affirmation
the river a path to the green pleated grass
and the woven fields of corn
even bright heads of sunflowers
to the vine-covered trees
blackberry brambles and tule grasses
of the delta
dipping reflection from just-watered lawns
knowing life is always delirious with change
and lasting like love and front doors
finds the way home just like geese do