ducks, compared to me
ducks, compared to me, are much more organized
they pattern themselves
submitting for miles to wing-beats in front
faces watch tail feathers and eyes never meet
friendship forgotten in the circle of sky, the same of wings, the
above scrawny oaks and the grope of mistletoe, I hear duck voices
no, I do not know what it means
do they hate or love the regimen?
I see only this: they get where they mean to go.