Geese streaks

Walking into the kitchen in the morning, 

Wondering why the cats aren’t there to greet me,

 I catch sight of a fuchsia sun, 

Peering through slats of clouds 

Like Venetian blinds, 

And run for my camera, 

But by the time I get outside 

The slats have closed and all is gray again, 

Broken only by a stripe of geese, 

Dragging their charcoal streaks 

Across the window of the sky.