The Point of Flight

The Point of Flight

The geese are gleaning in the fields

This mild October day.

Their long necks bend in sunset as

They slowly make their way.

And later on a rural road

Among umbrageous trees

We sometimes see no sky at all

When limbs obey the breeze.

But then it’s still, and we can see

An avenue of blue

Extending straight above us as

We’re slowly driving through.

And flowing toward us on that blue—

A wedge, the flying form

Of geese, preferring custom’s shape

To some amorphous swarm.

They seem as they approach us like

A deadly pointed blade,

Once crafted by a vengeful god—

In anger shaped and made.

The weapon passes overhead—

A harmless whoosh of bird—

While we remain unscathed below—

And smile at death deferred.

You’re running low on funds and such?

A great solution—going Dutch.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet (14)

“You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,”

Mercutio says, an expert on such things. (1.4)