They fly in a V formation, a skein
of Canada Geese, honking
joyfully as they arrive back at the
lakes and ponds where they were born.
Landing on the water, as if on water skis,
they trundle together onto land making
soft sounds in a language of their own.
They make me think of a superfluity of nuns
in their black wimples, reciting prayers
of gratitude for a safe migration.