By Allan Roy Andrews
Geese screech southward in boomerang families,
chasing the brightening horizon.
Phalanxes against a gunmetal sky,
they bend to no wind or word
save the Master’s and bear down the cloud-pocked
boulevard of heaven their servant songs.
Lone stragglers trail in the East, widows, spinsters
or orphans whose undisclosed sin left them adrift.
Darting, swirling, they chase the winging wedge,
dancing like gypsies behind a royal caravan.
Suddenly, catching a cross-wind or zephyr,
one alone streaks into the flock and quietly —
without ceremony or celestial explanation —
flies wedded to the winged oneness.
*Originally published in
Theology Today, Vol. 58, No. 2, July 2001, page 222.