can any living creatures be more
poignant than baby fluff goslings
with their mama, and, maybe, dad,
in the ponds and lakes and even
ox-bowed eddies of running rivers
in our Mother Lode?
I’m looking at these little faces, like
the faces of our own living children,
so strong in life and, still, so fragile:
given raptors and riparian animals -
predators, all ready. all preying...
life is little hearts beating in hope -
cadence of tiny webs of feet -
paddling for the joy and for the very
obedience to the DNAs so complex.
sweet, chomping of young beaks -
beads of alert and confident eyes -
no apparent awareness of fear, yet.
soon. they will all learn, soon:
life and death are real and are one.
mama goose knows: it’s all borrowed.
every bird must live long enough
to fly and fly and fly.
even then, all days are numbered by....