This may be even smaller than micro. Mickey has been waxing on about this one for quite some time...

I go out in the morning to feed the animals and then again in the evening, mostly to feed the raccoons and this lone coyote who hangs around. When I do there's a flock of geese that fly one way at dawn and the other way at dusk.

I hear them, of course, calling out to each other. This is what they do, calling out to make certain the flock is together. And in a proper place.

In between I mostly write and when I am on Medium I hear this other calling, this "follow me" and the like. It isn't anything the same. This human gathering isn't the same. Not in this instance, not at all. I wish it could be. When I came here I hoped it would be and I wrote about it all the time that way. Almost five years now.

When people call me "poet" they do so only because they want me to call them "poet." If I ever call myself "poet" it is in that interior, micro space.

Or maybe when I am flying with those geese.

Possessor of Paul Newman eyes. Author of the straightforward & strange. “Women zai shuo ba.” Be useful; share what you can; help others always. Doctor of texts.