White Swans Rising

Arching already out-stretched necks
white swans rise, lift off mirrored water
as if decision and motion were one.
One great flap of wings,
tips kissing the wet surface goodbye.
The air fills with their grace,
fills with white motion
as they undulate across the wide marsh
becoming specks in a sky
awash with the fading sunset.

In the marsh below white swans rising
fish undulate among the watery reeds
seeking sustenance in murky waters
of this summer evening.
Near the marsh below, a lone child
chases fireflies while a dragon-fly
plays with the air, and the colors
of sunset give way to blue velvet night.

In her dreams the child rises,
touches the earth goodbye,
becomes a white swan rising,
filling the sky with the white motion of herself,
becomes a white swan rising,
flying away from the watery grass,
​the murky waters.

But here, on this earth, in this sky,
the stars go on spinning like pinwheels,
silently over the wide marsh,
over that one child, alone with her fireflies,
the watery grass, the murky waters.
Alone-with her white swans rising.

A Poem of Many Colors

Isn't language marvelous?
consider for instance
a raw yolk of yellow
a passion of purple
a rough rind of orange
or a fine rage of red.

Linger upon:
a slender grass of green
a pitch night of black
a bright star of white
or a cool water of blue.

Above all, wear this poem
as the Biblical Joseph before us
wore his coat of many colors,
the gift of his father,
Wear this poem.

It too is a special gift.


Changes

Winter is now habitable:
the icicle’s drip
no longer creeps down my spine,
on the endless afternoon
the flurry of snow
only settles on frozen ground--
my heart’s safe now,
off limits to winter’s wilderness. 

It was not always so:
time froze on those afternoons
with each icy drip a seal,
like wax, but cold and unyielding.
Then was my heart
the frozen ground
encased in snow-white perfection. 

Each day now I bow to changes.