Tides of Geese

Tides of Geese

(“But I, the Lord, will protect you, and you will not be handed over to the people you are afraid of.” Jeremiah 39:17)

I am afraid my tears have been misquoted,
my silence has been soaked in
new translations before the ink runs.
But no matter, I cannot interpret the
chaos that wanders in and out of me.

Because we do not comprehend the
quarter tones that descend from Tibetan hills
they pass like granite beyond our ears and into the
western fields where
flocks of geese land to lunch. We walk by
and do not notice the way they occupy the open space
as if they own it.

They were like the seafoam-on-sand that displaced
my toes,
then fills the depressions left behind.
I step toward them, they turn and move as one,
safely several feet from me, then, as I pass,
turn and take their positions again.
They are the tide, and I am the anti-moon.

Their feet and mine are glued to the same earth.
The heavy air coats us all, dew-like just outside of
the winter’s grasp.

When I said I was afraid, I did not mean I shiver.
But to explain my tears is like spinning tales of
Greek tragedy so dense you would yawn and look for
an exit from my meander. You would tip your hat,
take your leave, and wander to see if the geese have
yet mounted the winds.
And I am left with untold stories. I would strip them
bare,
though,
unwinding the embellishments and leaving nothing but
a storyline so familiar that the denouement is discerned from the
first staccato vowel.

Christ is all around me.
He is around you too.
I am not the middle.
And neither are you.

Christ is all around us,
In the tears, songs and dust.
We are not the ending.
The beginning is trust.