"Three Wild Geese Flying In The Dark" - poem

"Three Wild Geese, Flying in The Dark"
===================
by Avi & Rachel Abrams

Part 1

The "white noise" is gray today,
There is an imbalance -
The Saturn's rings are reeling to one side;
Trading places
with a stranded astronaut,
I 'm given to
contemplation of
various conundrums and
repeating circumstance
-- but when the grind gets too
obvious,
I escape into the night,
protected by the wing's shadow
of three wild geese
flying eastward.

Pride and singularity
hold me apart
But the sweep of rustling air
Brings me back into myself -
I know I was born for something more
What is it I cherish in my hidden rooms?
Bitter are my dreams
Except for a love we can hardly understand;
Can I share?

Part 2

What do "west" and "east" have in common?
Which part of the world can claim
independence from them both?
We are subliminally interconnected,
woven together in a tapestry,
in a streamlined pattern -
like east and west wings of the birds,
rushing forward,
to share
in the loving embrace
of the wind.

Can I share?
Can I fly also,
hinged together,
put in a quantum-knot singularity
with a "no-escape" radius
of heavy pride?

Gifts come to those who
never ask
and I am stuck with
what I cannot manage
Struggling, I stretch
and feel the air i know i can reach
but the wind doesn't care.

How can I rise up on wings -
my feathers are misformed, furled
Is this my only chance?
And so I wait -
I love- I hope-
How long?

Part 3

The trees will uphold me
We will reach in green agreement
together:
they fortuitously rooted,
and I capriciously
dislodged.

Then the forged strength of
our thrust
will bring us
where the other three birds
alight in a soft sunrise
- escaping heavy gravities
and yet guided by deeper instinct yet -
the one we can not
unfathom.

blistered fingers trying to play
You are under my mood
bags of brainworkings are
storming around under my bed
and a vanishing beauty
tugs at my heart
until my eyes find it.
so often i lose it altogether

Is that the meaning of life?
-trying so hard to make a living
that breathing gets lost?
keeping to schedules
so that a roaring, firey dawn
-awesome portent-
receives a distracted glance
and no more...
When i'd rather sit
on the cold, dead grass
and pretend i know what it means

and i like it the wrong way

--------------------
@ jan 31, 2005