Canada Goose -Jan Bailey


 All alone on the black ice pond,
long arched neck, banded cheek,
the Canada Goose turns his back
as I pull my way from the woods,
then swings half circle to face me.

 I feel noisy in my best silence,
a clumsy oaf in red down coat,
boots, silly snowflake hat,
and, though I stand at quiet
attention, believe he must hear
my stuttered breathing, the way
he cocks his head, then straightens.

 Three times this day pulled
to my knees by beauty, by
that which takes only what
is offered, is not crumbled
by aloneness: winterberry
against the spent snow, russet
rim along Manana, the goose,
wild song rising.

 Jan Bailey, from Heart of the Other, by permission of the poet.