This Kind of Morning
Judith Taylor Graham
A gaggle of geese becomes a skein
rising above the usual noisy murder
of crows. It must be spring
in this gratitude of grass, where
a loyalty of dogs (your term) is chasing
a famine of rabbits (mine) ,
and won't come back to either call
or whistle, That's loyalty for you.
Whoever invented (I wonder) these
odd aggregations? A superlative
of cats (you' d say, knowing
I own one, who’s surely her own
superlative of one) ,
And how about (I ask) a clasp
of lovers? As if two of any -
thing could ever fit togetlier
in a single word.
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