Wild Geese

Geese know nothing of haiku
yet there they are
holding up clouds
with three syllables.

When I watch geese fly over cities
cratered land
smokestacks
I wonder what they think of us –
we who love the land
and leave autographs.
How would we explain this to the geese –
they who do not merely love
but know the land?
How would we explain a prayer?
How about silence?
Humility?
Who speaks for us?

Geese know nothing of epic poetry
yet there they are
quill to beak
reciting our world back to us.

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