The Lone Goose

Never eating or drinking, the lone goose
Flies – thinking of its flock, calling out.
Who pities a flake of shadow lost beyond
Ten-thousand clouds?  It stares far-off,

As if glimpses of them remained.  Sorrows
Mount – it almost hears them again….
Wild crows, not a thread of thought anywhere,
Squawk and shriek, fighting each other off.