Snow Geese in February
by ricky o'neill
no idols reflect in the pool where the geese meet at the stream’s end
the only anthem is that of ripples, falling flakes, and bobbing heads
i hum along. i learn the heresy and treason of putting the joys
of this world over the abstractions of another. if the stillness of this water
leaves me thirsty, let me pray: what is prophecy? may the drippings
of these snow swaddled branches consecrate me. may this dense and milky blanket
suffocate the horizon, far from trees where birds might sing or call for spring.