Flying With Wet Wings
For Martin Wallner, 1955-2001
If we could calibrate the weight
of our sorrow, our grief
we could shrug it, shuck it, shake it
like dogs swirl rain off coats
soggy from a wet walk.
We would then be light, downright giddy
from the sense of loss
of the sense of loss.
I watched a chevron of geese
fly through heavy rain
their inner gyros set for south.
How hard, I thought
to fly with water-weighted wings.
They've no alternative to nature's flight plan.
And so they fly.
The chevron wavered,
the leader dropped back
for respite.
Another took
its place
and they were gone.
