Poem of the week: The Geese

All summer the geese
assemble on the
lake-shape inside
the high school track,
plump magistrates
lording their idleness,
chalking the clay
with chlorinate
droppings the color
of lichen; their loose
dander-froth rises
and falls in the white
heat. There's a rhythm,
invisible, save for that dirty
down, like some great
breathing that the spider
webs' blousing
at the mouths
of vents reveal. I feel
what it will be like
without me, the long
sigh, and these judges
sitting immovable
across the finish line.

• Oana Sanziana Marian was born in Romania. Her poetry has appeared in Modern Poetry in Translation, Poetry Jukebox, The Yale Review, and Artforum.