Sun lights the geese, and the gander
glides along the route of his reflection.
He’s attentive, takes his time
escorting his ghost in the lake’s mirror.

Maybe he’s beautiful only because
we’ve been told. But watching him,
I forget droughts and plagues.

How hungry would I have to be
to wade out and strangle him?
I’d tear through feathers
and chomp the greasy meat of his neck,
that showy neck.