poetry by j matthew waters

seeing things

I crossed the bridge on the coldest
day of the year just as the noon
whistle blew

on the frozen river below
hundreds of geese huddled together
on the sunlit ice

once inside the downtown deli
I warmed to a cup of soup
and toasted sandwich

driving back across the bridge
the geese had vanished
into the bitter winter air

january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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