BIRDSONG

GEESE IN SEPTEMBER

I jump to reach you

but you honk in formation

while I cling to crumbs

I used to think when I was young that if I jumped with my umbrella in the wind I might fly like Mary Poppins. I got over it. But I still can't bear that the geese go, sensing the freshening air, neatly arranged in turn-taking formation, supporting one another on vast voyages across oceans and continents, deeply in a communion of space and timing, while I'm stuck here, grounded in my human form, hanging on to crusts.