At night I hear them overhead,
The wild geese, voices
Faint as breathing and I long
To mingle in their skein
Lifted by their turbulence
Arrowed by their knowledge
Under the pure moon.

And I'd take my turn in slicing
The wind like a cheese wire,
Trailing our collective
Wisdom to the goal
Of grey dawn marshes
More than half as far again
As if I flew alone.

With thanks to Manfred Antranias Zimmer (via Pixabay) for the photo.
Published in Eye Flash Poetry