Bright orange beaks

a gaggle of geese swam close to the shore

my binoculars befriended them and i was surprised

i could see their every feather

i felt i could even see the mites and friends they carried everywhere.

probably not, probably my eyes deceiving me; no, my interpretation of my eyes.

the edge of the lake is green and brown, the texture like a cake topped with soft fresh grass from a fairytale, from an oasis, a dell amidst the urban sprawl.

‘help me’

i whispered under my binoculars, their weight increasing and my wrists angling down so all i could see was the twinkling lapping water, pulsating and smiling its empty smile at me

the geese scooted through my view, a head, a side of soft white, their passengers forgotten as my eyes blur and my muscles forgetting their hold as i sag back and roll onto the grass beneath me.

i’m lost, can they see? can they see me at all? what is their impression of me?

i think if i knew it, i could share it, and relieve the view i hold of myself.

my eyes closed, the geese stand over me and gently tap and peck with rounded beaks on my forehead and cheeks and one on my lips

there’s no algae here for you, there are no snacks, that’s my mouth!

they don’t know that; i let them probe. i let them peck until it feels sore and i’m bruised and sure that some of my skin is raw

‘they can’t know what they do’ – it’s an automatic thought, and one i stem the flow of immediately. these geese know just what they do

observe their cleanliest white and softest down, their bright orange beaks and their individuality shown glinting in round, knowing eye

leave me close to the shore so that i might roll in slumber towards the waters, the greeny browny murky bowl will hide me. it will erase the unknown troubles i can’t bely.