North for Geese

It is late and I’ve lost my way
but I will not follow the sun.
I slip along hedgerow and snow fence,
I am a secret, I am a theme–

All these glowing houses
push back the falling blue;
this is not what they
were promised–

     Milk
     Bread
     Greens

their failing dreams
a grocery list

but winking, I am sunset.
I gather light like berries,
my wayless walking
a wind in last year’s leaves–

Snow-covered sun chairs are a
backstop for a boy
leaves the ball and bike spinning–
called inside

but I leave epoch footprints
and squirrels follow me
the source of their miraculous stores.

Among the dinner and dirt
and clean clothes raining
dogs sniff toward me then
ignore me for sticks and tails

but I block the moon.
I am North for geese,
a goddess because
he sees me.

– Teresa Kiplinger