POEM 9: The Geese, Lisa Russ Spaar
THE GEESE
Just as God is not my sorrow,
neither does this prow
above our gable where a dream
has died owe me any more than life
has promised us an ending. Though it has.
Is it true the sadder we are, the more things stand still?
Rudder of dusk, perhaps this love
of shape betrays any taste for death.
Even more, I love their going-pioneers-
beyond my knowing.
Lisa Russ Spaar
Just as God is not my sorrow,
neither does this prow
above our gable where a dream
has died owe me any more than life
has promised us an ending. Though it has.
Is it true the sadder we are, the more things stand still?
Rudder of dusk, perhaps this love
of shape betrays any taste for death.
Even more, I love their going-pioneers-
beyond my knowing.
Lisa Russ Spaar