GEESE IN SEPTEMBER

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I jump to reach you

but you honk in formation

while I cling to crumbs


I used to think when I was young that if I jumped with my umbrella in the wind I might fly like Mary Poppins. I got over it. But I still can't bear that the geese go, sensing the freshening air, neatly arranged in turn-taking formation, supporting one another on vast voyages across oceans and continents, deeply in a communion of space and timing, while I'm stuck here, grounded in my human form, hanging on to crusts.

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