A Trilogy of Geese

A Trilogy of Geese

(“No servant can serve two masters. The servant will hate one master and love the other, or will follow one master and refuse to follow the other. You cannot serve both God and worldly riches.” Luke 16:13)

A trilogy of geese scratched the sky
spiraling above the hilly landscape.
They circled a field of mown alfalfa
and landed in the middle of the sheaves
left out to dry.

He walked the same path and looped the
ground on asphalt along the farmer’s boundaries.
His feet knew the way as he watched
the brittle sky wink away the morning dew.
His eyes had faded,
his arms listing to one side.
He saw them and wondered where the
rest of the flock might be.

I need more moments when sun and birds
meet overhead. I need minute miracles that
account for only seconds of my time. I need
my pockets stitched where I used to store
my coins.

The three geese didn’t answer his questions,
they only raised his intrigue about
the origin of things and what his
spindly thoughts were worth. His
pockets were empty, and I think he
finally liked it that way.

Flocks of Geese

Flocks of Geese

(“During a severe ordeal of suffering, their abundant joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in the wealth of their generosity.” 2 Corinthians 8:2)

It was the time of year when flocks of geese
gleaned the fields. The cattle a fence away
fed on grass and drank out of tubs halfway between.
A calf chewed away just an arm-length from the fence and
turned back toward the herd as a man stopped to look him in the face.

There were footprints on the path the man had walked and
he carried the world like a backpack on his shoulders. He had
started with everything he needed but had nothing for the
weight that pushed his feet into the mud. He was not
destitute,
but he could feel the pressure of the day robbing him of hope.
But he would continue walking, he would carry on.

While the cattle grazed, while the geese fed,
he met the day the way a grandad baby-talks
the toddler who crosses his path.

Sighting down the fence-line he saw the cattle
to his left
and the geese
to his right
and remembered something like waking up
on a Saturday with the sun already in the sky.
He had room in his pack for one burden more

And he walked on to bring the easel, paint, and
brushes to the child
he had met just the day before.

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.