I know nothing about geese
I know nothing about geese, only saw them landing
at the outer edge of the pond sometime around noon
while I was walking the perimeter of the field in orange sandals.
I want to say they were “gliding” or something that says I understand
the way of birds, but I can’t say I saw how they honed in on that particular
patch of water, don’t know how, en masse, they agreed to take a break,
only that they did, and had begun a slow canoe looking for what,
I imagine, to be lunch. I was hungry and went inside to eat. Look how even without
the language to tell it, a story begins to tell itself, find threadlines and affinities.
I, too, understand nourishment. I, too, know my own wings.