In memory of Pauline Eckenrode


On the road south toward home
a chevron of geese crosses
the gray winter sky, adjusting,
rearranging, settling into its pattern.

Then another and another, group
upon group, navigate in the distance,
and the more we look
the more we see.

Despite the hunters, despite our
heedless assaults, they continue,
locked into their azimuth, bound
into the clouds, beyond our ken.

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