Lorca in the Bosque del Apache

The Bosque is a bird sanctuary in San Antonio, New Mexico, along the Rio Grande.
During winter months huge flocks gather there, to fly in at dusk and out at down.

The snow geese were there all along
Making their artificial snow.
The grebes were filing a grievance.
There were thirty some thousand geese
And eight plus thousand cranes
But who was counting.

Lorca was, the hours after his death were
Increasing like flocks.

My grandson said his body ached,
He felt all flocked out.
In my dreams there were caves and mud plaster
Everything became suddenly easy.
I give up several times a week.
Lorca reminds me I have boot straps
I miss Lorca as if we were in relationship.
There are 5 other men I miss not counting
My father, but who’s counting.

Right now the whole
Country, three plus thousand soldiers gone.
Right now the 3 am train is whistling through San Antonio.
My grandson is aseep in Glorieta.
The snow geese are asleep without lullabyes.
I met Madeline at the Flight Deck
She smiled sweetly as if she loved me
When one is in the presence of cranes and geese
I defy you not to love.

The train is closer now and loud.
I am listing towards a morning when the fly out occurs.
Lorca tells me to sleep in, that morning is over-rated.
The words polar bear are in the endangered word list.
This rattle. This raucus. The bus in Burque said $OUCH!
I am trying to interpret buses. I read the geese
Like tea leaves but they are cross stitching the sky.
The skeins of geese and cranes,
The skein of geese and cranes, the skeins.