The Geese

Just as God is not my sorrow,
neither does this prow

above our gable where a dream
has died owe me any more than life

has promised us an ending. Though it has.
Is it true the sadder we are, the more things stand still?

Rudder of dusk, perhaps this love
of shape betrays any taste for death.

Even more, I love their going—pioneers—
beyond my knowing.

Copyright © 2007 Lisa Russ Spaar All rights reserved
from Satin Cash
Persea Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission