Monday Poem

Geese

This morning when the sky’s red skin is
drawn across a beginning and the grass
is taut with frost and the clarity
of the edge of things recalls
the precision of an engraver’s point
an irregular V of geese passes left to right
like beads of an animated  rosary
each a honking Hail Mary
a striving prayer
an individual articulating dot
an I-am of we-are

we are moving south
we are honking like hell
we are drifting up and down
in a wandering V together
to reach some destination
by a means coded in our cells
by a wisdom unknown
by an accident or lovely intention
on a whim or a want
on an updraft or drawn down
by a turn in the weather

we have been invited and
we are moving south implacably
as life moves

by Jim Culleny
December 4, 2009