The day was run by Canada geese, like other days the last ninety or so. The geese stood around on a lip of ice and took off low or swam, practising always.
I waited for glide, thought it might teach me how to sink when it's time to land, how to sound
(which was: like a grateful dog on a park bench calling),
how to take water, when to know.
They flew their own shadows in drifts of twos and threes.
Their signals ran tighter than ever, any move tied to others, no call alone.
None of these words have meaning for geese but utter calm.