Article: 261415 of talk.bizarre
From: (Ed Gaillard)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: wild goose chase
Date: 1 Dec 1995 09:56:49 -0500
Organization: Department of Pointless Activities
Lines: 129
Message-ID: <49n53h$>
Summary: solo renga
Status: O

wild geese chase the sun
then rest by the melting snow
in Riverside Park

near the homeless encampment
people throw food to the birds

at the boat basin
I give the geese messages
to bring north to you

the salt tide from the harbor
makes the river run backward

the setting moon points
a shaky silver finger 
across the water

piers decay majestically
under the busy highway

on the waterfront 
a ten-story pipe organ 
across from the park

where small birds chirp cheerily
and a shallow stream answers

heaped-up sunset clouds 
too romantic a setting
for real lovers

the desert is too full now
and the city too empty

from my fire-escape
chirping crickets compete with

across the street they're watching
TV:  The Honeymooners

not much less color
then the live full moon hanging
over the building

among the sparse city stars
washed-out spots of red and blue

Orion awakes
before sunrise; I'm watching,
smoking on the roof

wind whips the ash away; I
savor the chill on my skin

as the last leaves fall
breathe deep-- the  air promises
a bitter winter

the windows are rimed with frost
no need for weather reports

light dustings of snow
make patterns on the sidewalks
on my way to work

the wind whips off the river
up the hill to the subway

I wait for the train
watch snowflakes drift through the grate
and melt on the tracks

the droning of the snowplows
a bad day to be a car

piles of blackened snow
finally melting, making lakes
at the street-corners

the starlings return, screeching
at each other and car-horns

and as the sun sets
they're all fussing in one tree
black leaves among green

the days are still muggy, but
now summer is gone at night

the canada geese
visit here on their way south
you told them nothing

so the geese sing of the sun
against the chill in the air

the night's new-moon dark 
white-breaking waves eat the sky
there's no horizon

a nightmare:  my heart's pounding
but the wave doesn't reach me

stranded on the beach
gulls cry overhead, taunting
or sympathizing

smog in the distance points out
the city-- a long walk home

on an unplowed road
I stop to make a snowman
the sun gets ahead

I built the snowman in shade
so it might last until Spring

blizzard memories
replaced by new-fallen drifts
of cherry blossoms

soon to be forgotten, too--
I regret less than geese do.

-ed g.