One Single Impression: Floating
The beaver is dead
And so is the partner of this Canada goose
Who has two goslings and is a
About crossing this street.
I stand and watch this mama and her babes
In the pouring rain.
Passing cars douse us with upturned puddles
As the wind blows too cold for May
And too hard.
Cross, birds, I think.
I will be here in my red slicker
And I will see you safely across.
But she is waiting for me to go away.
Waiting. Not pressing.
The difference is everything.
I am floating on the grey light of dusk
Weightless and peaceful despite the fear
And married to these birds who tell me
In their waiting
To be here
But do it over there
And not too much.