The Fowl

The Geese have taken the place
of bats in the spiral-milky, darkful

barking like tall dogs
in the wild shadows of oaks,

laughing like coyotes in the
odor of cool October farmland,

howling like wolves in the dying
embers of a witching hour fire.

(No one expected these strange birds)

hovering ancestral grounds,
haunting sleepless nights.