Swans and geese


Part 11 of the 66-part series called "moon photos"

They’ve invaded the liminal spaces, the ones
between everything, they’re stuffing the cracks,
they’re filling up alleyways, they’ve roosted
between automobiles, no one can move or even
think with all of them everywhere, someone asked
what’s the difference, anyway, between swans
and geese? but nobody paid attention, no one
really knew, and besides, who cared, it’s not like
you could tell them apart, unless maybe you
tore them apart, peered deep within their bodies
to the cores of their beings, saw the geese within
the swans, the swans within the geese, sitting
on their cell walls, in the viscera between
their stomachs and their crops, their wings and
their feathers, and what good would it do, you still
wouldn’t be able to move or think or anything,
they’d still be everywhere, in fact there’d be more
divisions for them to squeeze between, their feathery
bodies puffing up in the differences, their honks sounding
out the hours of the night, their feet in the water,
their wings in the air, flapping needlessly, tirelessly
beating out the seconds to the end of everything, or
what, we know, would end up being the beginning
of everything else, waiting somewhere to actually begin.