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at the lake
daylight till dark
we tell each other
news of our far-flung lives
laughing and crying
watching geese take flight.
They fly in formation
so they can see each other,
see the whole group–
Each takes a turn in front
till they tire, fall back, rest
in the eased wind resistance
of the flock which is sometimes called
(spectacular fact)
a skein, word which falls into formation
behind the geese, you with my messy,
tangled skein of orange yarn,
unknotting it slowly over hours of talk
until you transform it into a neat ball
that takes its place in formation
and becomes the orange moon.
Remember? We called you to come and see
the moon rise—no longer whole,
diminished but not gone
beautiful still
as it rose
over the lake
and we kept talking

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