Is there any day as large as this one?
Shadows of gone towers
loom larger than their monument…
Maples will wear new leaves again,
but never with such passion
as before that fractured dawn,
not even in the bloom of spring.
The glorious geese have queued
in orderly vees, I wonder if they’re tribal,
Do they do battle with other flocks
for a lake to land on?
Is it only humans who want to claim
the world? Listen to the wild goose call
It needs no translation.
Now that the flocks are gone,
and the feeding is done,
We settle into the seasons.
The moon, unblinking, guards its realm,
With swords sheathed and pens in hands,
the poets trek a path to the edge of starlight
to write our peace.