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. |