Migration of the Snows and Blues

The silage field empty
of nothing but a honking island
of a thousand snow geese,
I stop for what could be mine.

Overhead hundreds circle,
settle undetectably, safe,
swiftly emptying the sky
of white and grey skeins.

I wait for everyone to land,
walk beauty-hungry and wingless
toward them. Two or three sense
my strange approach and drift.

I step slowly, broad shouldered
with great love and homeless desire
over corn-rich clods to see the island lift.
Today, after you, this is my only power.

Cradling the flock’s racing hearts,
a sparkling surge of countless, prudent v’s
sings one high pitch of blue solidarity
slanted for miles and miles away from me.


4 Responses to “Migration of the Snows and Blues”

  1. Padma Thornlyre says:

    And so, maybe I understand part of why you’re where you are. This is a walk I would share with you! Thanks for bringing me along.

  2. wordweed says:

    Yes, there are little perks to living on the plains. They are subtle usually, but worth slowing down to gather up.

  3. Padma Thornlyre says:

    Being sensitive to the subtle things can create real poetry. Such sensitivity says something about your soul, Rachel. That you have courage enough to live vulnerably, permeably.

  4. wordweed says:

    Thank you, Padma, for these kind words.

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