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Poetry

Flying With Wet Wings

Flying With Wet Wings

Flying With Wet Wings For Martin Wallner, 1955-2001   If we could calibrate the weight of our sorrow, our grief we could shrug it, shuck it, shake it like dogs swirl rain off coats soggy from a wet walk. We would then be light, downright giddy from the sense of loss of the sense of loss. I watched a chevron of geese fly through heavy rain their inner gyros set for south. How hard, I thought to fly with water-weighted wings. They've no alternative to nature's flight plan. And so they fly. The chevron wavered, the leader dropped back for respite. Another took its place and they were gone. 

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