Molting

A crooked line of geese flaps by
and undulates across the sky
as though a snake had learned to fly

exploring wispy curls of gray
that pass for clouds this autumn day
while winter surely heads our way

if only I could somehow wake
and levitate just like that snake
oh what a grand escape I'd make

beyond the land of living dead
where I can shuck this shameful dread
a mottled skin that must be shed.