Down by the Riverside
It stands at river’s edge,
bulb-like, beak-long head
stretching east
to the rising sun,
the towering metropolis
whose honking horns,
muted in the mist of the far away,
give way
to the honk
of the goose.
Honk, honk
out of my way-sorrow and joys of the past,
out of my way-hopes and fears of tomorrow
clear the way for cool breezes that flutter feathers,
swerve aside for the sun’s warmth and its sparkling ripples
on river’s flow
be silent
so the brushing of milky bubbles
against blackened rocks
can add a chorus of whispers to
the honking melody, a hymn to being alive-now.
