No, geese can’t be V-shaped
thoughts, any more than
ragged sentences, or I-shaped
across the sky. No, what
is perfectly formed is not
their shape, but their direction
I am joined on my blue rubber yoga mat
by a slug, moving as though all its senses
were concentrated in two fleshy horns,
their round nubs stressing and straining
to extend perception to the whole universe:
seems pretty confident of getting it right.
I close my eyes awhile, then open them:
the slug is gone, having left behind only
a crooked white trail, shapely, still wet.