The evening light fades through the clouds.
A string of geese call me out
to sing a farewell, and
I wish them luck as they go from Ish River,
away out over the ocean,
long long sweeps of rippling wings
bound for Siberia.
Their wild song they take with them,
and leave some behind.
They leave enough so
I don't have to leave home any more.
--Robert Sund, from Poems from Ish River Country
Shoemaker & Hoard, 2004
robert sund
poetry
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