Throwing The Changeup (Not Baseball)

Because I've written nothing else in the past two days, I'm breaking a little rule of my own and posting this fresh poem.

Waiting for Geese in the Spring


Early April. The bare trees are black with rain.
No tulips yet, but their beds begin to green.
The sou'west wind's been blowing for days (yesterday,
I sat in the sun in my shirt sleeves) —

But I've seen no geese yet this spring.
I've seen no strands of geese pulled into vees
Until tension slackens over the cove and they descend,
Dark skeins ravelling upon the water.