the swallows fly toward our heads—
i do not flinch

in the middle of a mundane conversation
with my children, i have this thought:
i will always be your shelter

the heavy silence of a mid-May morning,
fills in the blank spaces and resting places,
of a fleeting memory

your body and its reflection
resemble a bracket,
emphatically holding the day–
every call from screeching gulls,
each breeze rippling marshy waters,
all the tiny gnats hovering above the flat surface,
and every stray desire dispelled by me,
and perhaps by you, on that waning afternoon

i thought you were alone,
but there were two other geese
roaming the field,
and when we walked by
you called out loudly
to them?
to me?
we were all at attention,
your intention was clear–
i walked by gently,
loving you from a distance

what were you looking at so intently? was it an insect on the wall, or the growing moss and moisture? or were you just avoiding the prying eyes of uninvited guests?

i hear the geese call to one another throughout the night
and in the morning they fly gracefully toward the dawn,
still vocal, continuing their stories in flight–
in the afternoon, they swim against the current,
test the waters with strong beaks, preen oily feathers,
and leisurely resume the ongoing dialogue–
how i wish i could join the easy conversation

you waited for your lunch–
i envied your concentration,
your impressive weapons and tools