Permission
There are three nesting pairs
of geese on the river this spring--
last night we watched them swimming
for the island:
one pair had seven goslings, strung out
like pearls between the clasps of them;
a second pair had one between them,
their shadow a small mountain range;
the final pair had none. They swam
to the island with the others, as if teaching
young geese to swim. Their loss
was strung in space across river water
and everyone on the dock discussed
the taking of goslings by the pair of eagles
who hunt here all year.
I know this is right, this is good—the eagles
do not need our permission to eat. But--
I see now I am too much in the house
of my mind, to listen to the unpermissioned
needs of the body. How will
I will change enough to celebrate
the full bellies of wild eagles?
Published in The Wisconsin Review