Down by the Riverside

It stands at river’s edge,

bulb-like, beak-long head

stretching east

to the rising sun,

the towering metropolis

whose honking horns,

muted in the mist of the far away,

give way 

to the honk 

of the goose.

Honk, honk

out of my way-sorrow and joys of the past,

out of my way-hopes and fears of tomorrow

clear the way for cool breezes that flutter feathers,

swerve aside for the sun’s warmth and its sparkling ripples

on river’s flow

be silent 

so the brushing of milky bubbles

against  blackened rocks

can add a chorus of whispers to

the honking melody, a hymn to being alive-now.