Wing of intent

Charcoal smudges cross the surface,

blurred amoebas floating over the half mown lawn.

The first geese casting shadows of autumn.

Thinking vaguely of formation

an aimless lost honk points them this way

or that.


Then five in jagged arc together

Steering with duck billed mutterings

crashing through arboreal gulleys

they carry heavy speed

lifting with whistling wingtips


And the trees sigh

As they pass by

Impatient for them to leave


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