BILL CARROLL
Penmanship Practice in April

I heard their honks like an unoiled wheel squeaking loudly
before I saw them
written just above the margin of newly green trees

a score or so of geese there were
in a single distant line
like twenty words printed right to left
perfect penmanship
looped along the straight blue line of roofs

too far from open water
I listened
until they faded into the north
erasing winter's bleak manuscript
speaking their ghostly chant of autumn
in reverse.


Copyright BILL CARROLL
(all rights reserved; To copy or translate this poem, please contact the poet)
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