The Geese by Jane Mead

Slicing this frozen sky know
where they are going–
and want to get there.

Their call, both strange
and familiar, calls
to the strange and familiar

heart, and the landscape
becomes the landscape of being
which becomes

the bright silos and snowy
fields over which the nuanced
and muscular geese

are calling–while time
and the heart take measure.

from Poetry (October 2010)

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