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)