A goose observes a train at dusk
David S. Briggs
Strange, how they ferry daylight with them,
how they heave those bright metal husks
over the earth—a line of luminous shells.
How greedy they are for the glow.
How completely their snared sunlight
scorches black paths across the land.
How they clutch it in their hovels.
What sickness or fear grips a creature
to make it shun slumber so?
Why do they not turn their necks down
into a downy silence? Why
do they not welcome the darkness
that comes to shelter them from peril?
What are they afraid to hide from?
If I could shine like that
I would lead my flock to freedom
and ignite the clouds with my feathertips.
I would soar the distance
all the way to the cold egg moon
and wander the black lake of night,
bobbing for sunken stars.
David S. Briggs has worked in trade book publishing for more than a decade, and he’s recently published pieces in The Paterson Literary Review and U.S.1 Worksheets, with pieces forthcoming from Bombay Gin and The Apalachee Review.