A frozen moment trembles
between green living memory and
the play of light and dark
which crafts shadows
Each morning on my way, the geese greeted me
their brash noises, their proud unconcern,
their graceful glide across the flowing waters
Yesterday, they all stood paused on the river's brink
some looking outward to the waters,
seeking to dredge a last secret from its depths
some looking skyward to the white-flecked blue
wondering what nourishment such emptiness might bring
This morning, the riverbank is empty,
except for scattered tufts of down,
and I look across the waters, seeking secrets
and feel, in some frozen moment,
that razor's edge dividing
the river and the sky.