Geese
That day the sun rose as if
it was the most natural thing
in the world; as if the long lake
glaciers had dug in the hard
bed of a withered sea
would keep the sea’s salt
buried forever like treasure;
as if the least you could expect
was for geese to swim through
blue air in a luminous shoal,
a great white mesh hauled
from the deep blue of the lake;
as if snow itself had hatched
a flock of fat flakes on the ground
and taught them how to fly
under their own steam; or as if
it should come as no surprise
to find yourself amazed,
between the salt and the sunlight,
catching snow-geese with your bare eyes.
by Robert Travers
from The Yale Review