On the smooth, empty lake,
   a lone, black-necked goose
carves a long, languorous V
   onto the lake’s sheen
of eternal knowing,

Lengthening it as he goes.

His delicate feet flutter
   in the gentle currents as his
soft beige-gray feathers
   ply
the waters
   beneath him.

Gliding slowly, scarcely moving;
   strong, assured; he leaves
a path
   of delicate ripples to mark
the place
   where he has been.

It is his art, his life–his morning.

The V seems created solely to grow,
   to reach out until the ends
graze 
   the bottom 
of the sky.

We take note. How could we not?

And a weight we did not know
   we carried is lifted from us,
like a burden at day’s end.
   And all that follows,
floats,
   and carries us away.