Homing

On a bright winter morning

flights of honking geese

seem a single being,

—when my kind comes into such formation

I watch for firing squads.

I never saw a line of praying figures take flight.

On an Egyptian relief I’ve seen

heads of prisoners facing the same direction,

tied together by a single rope

twisted around each neck

as if they were one prisoner.

I reach for a hand nearby.

An old dream makes me cautious:

as an infant, howling and pissing across the sky,

I was abducted by an eagle,

I remember the smell of carrion on its breath,

I was fed by and kissed the great beak …

Now a ridiculous, joyous bird

rises out of my breast,

joins the flock, a spot on the horizon.

I am left on earth with my kind.

They tie us throat to throat down here,

unspoken, unspeakable.

Again the honking passes over my roof.

A great informing spirit kneels overhead,

gives the mind a little power over oblivion.