The lone goose on the grass this morning
is what I tell you about without words,
the way heart cells taken from the same body
will beat in tandem

on opposite coasts of a country,
regardless of wars, of governments,
of beliefs, and all we want to do
is love each other
where the geese return each spring.

Somewhere else it is raining bombs,
not this rain we are complaining about.
How gladly someone else would take

our boots, our umbrellas,
our weather that is not yet, war.