the eloquence of geese

03 Apr

my view across the field, the geese small specs, the “eye” a dark slit in the center by the trees

I felt moved to move outside
not from dissatisfaction
or discontent.
My soul was not disquieted,
in fact I was rather enjoying the song.
But out I went anyway.
Do no others hear the Voice?
The field surrounded by silent
cars parked and empty.
Stretching out before me
a field bathed in sprouting green
temporary refuge to four geese
instant sanctuary for me.
First I hear
the honking of the geese
more joining in spontaneous flyby,
then I hear our songs, our words,
all our efforts at exposition and verbal beauty
and realize
we are only trying to catch up to the
eloquence of geese.
In creation’s tale, they have a day’s head start
in evolution’s take,
epochs, the neck much more extended
but we chase them, even as they chase each other.
Then I see
creation’s single eye across the field
the eye of the empty tomb
then the Voice
“All you see and hear
all this life
all this green in undulating shades
all your honking, croaking, creaking melodies
spring from this womb.”
And past all apologetics
all argument, claim, and counterclaim
about other tombs
across oceans and centuries,
I soak in the seen reality of



back at me

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Posted by on April 3, 2013 in Poetry


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