Through a small octagonal window
a little something.
Tip of a bare branch,
black-shingled roof,
momentary starling,
brief flutter.
Invisible all the rest.
Put your cheek on the glass.
A tunnel
is dark.
Exit at either end,
autumnal dusk.
Up: floating parade,
geese honking by,
off north,
slate sky,
no trees or roofs.
Down: open field,
goose and goslings hunch,
eating grass.
Gander, the lookout,
neck a periscope,
looking for trouble.