Along the grassy path paralleling the silent river,
geese stalked tagging the rocks at low tide with
their wobbling gait, waiting for the goslings to
follow suit. They waded in and out, false starts
in pursuit of a bigger crumb, a gentler current.
Keep moving. All morning the path kept me moving.
Lingering over the sunrise or garbage at low tide,
I am crushed by vigilance.
Always crushed by the salutary effects, by the
intimate fragileness of this world.