The geese go by, flotilla is it?
Disarming us without artillery;
Turning away can be conciliatory,
And motives hidden but not illicit.
My love for you is underwater —
Not foundering, not bankrupt,
Nothing as convulsed as slaughter —
Just a look in the eyes gone blank, abrupt.
Content with pantomime, preening, a kiss,
Your silence and serenity never confide
In gander love that swims alongside,
Strenuous underneath the seeming glide,
Not granted from dismissal as much as a hiss.