Daniel David Moses, poems (1)

Falling Song

There was the sweet but reedy
honking of geese coming down
this morning with rain over
rush hour streets, coming
through like bells that celebrate.

I got right up, pushing up
close to the sooty window
pane. I peered out and up through
the weather, imagining
that that line of winged dots would

be shifting as if waves moved
easily through them, as if
waves floated them south. I wanted
to catch them riding, spots on
the wake of the wind, marking

the certain direction of
their migration. But I got
no satisfaction. Mist kept
them mysterious, quickly
dampening their call. Leaning

over the sill, I gaped at
a window shade dull sky, at
a hollow city, and felt
like I'd missed a parade I
would have wanted to follow.

- - -

Song in the Light of Dawn

Fish. My eyes were sleepy
fish and in the overcast
world the road to work was mud.
Then something near a pond

turned my head. A black bird's
banded wing made the perfect
lure, the gay colour a hook
without hurt, a blushing

wash. Now further on on
this shoulder of the high
way even the gravel and
asphalt greys overflow

their texture. They're so clear
I feel more than awake. Oh
to stay and swim in them here
would be, would be enough.

- - -