All day long the honking of geese
as they arrive from the breeding grounds
in Mexico or the Carolinas,
the ragged v of their winging
as they cut across the sky
in ever increasing numbers,
the female of the species guiding their way
to the same place every year.
They don’t always return.
There are some that remain in the Midwest,
taking up too much space,
forgetting how to find their way.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter--
they are creatures of the recent habit.
It’s not really a question of how
to make a home for their millions.
It begins with each nesting pair:
travel when the urge stirs,
rest when it is necessary;
sound your arrival
in the crisp, pale air.