Article: 261415 of talk.bizarre From: gaillard@panix.com (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$3v8@panix.com> Summary: solo renga Status: O X-Status: 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 air-conditioners 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.