We
fever the swan, ecstatic to marinate, by wings a fatal obsession: if mangled
our hearts, at vultures to breathe, influenced by awkward kindness; that inner
breath, as to picture images, afloat by dreams: our casual heartaches, at
missions through Canada, floored to psalms; that feral lightning, as brains
eclipse, this island too vast to contain. I love the swan, our buried
treasures, as affixed to fires; that Buddhist’s stream, that freshet arch, our
darkness by thunder as grieving. I’ve traveled roads, speaking with magpies,
effused by tender waters: that turquoise pond; that shower of diamonds; this
ache as convinced of silence; to feel such motion, engraved in helium, while
oxygen contorts our angels. I love the swan, to gallop through travesty, as
mere flesh structured by bone: that cryptic surge, as infused a legacy, while
at hopes an early confession: those violet mistakes, as cherished over love,
where I spoke out of rage: aflame a scar, as dealt this cabbage, where gumbo
stood afar: by lights a skycraft, this gracile swan, our neighbors shunning
rascals; as more to flights, singing abed, by measures a protector of siblings:
if be it life, to soar exospheres, at paces a poetess; as, too, those visions,
affixed to science, at chase that midnight stallion: such flowing mane, such
mystic grace, afire a storm fiddling firebrand; as reading letters, or forming
pyramids, our guts trembling with spirits; to find as chosen, this liquid
affinity, as sliding into crevices; while studied a scholar, that brain to
scanners, those nibs to essays; where waves are artful, that warming torch, at
coals to lips to prophecy. I love the swan, at hearts as churning, affected but
little our prevarications; as ceilings crumble, at sudden a gesture, this life
I’ve studied so long; as mere a lad, peering at patterns, our living room
filled with strangers: that recurrent spin; those floret pebbles; this forest
of dreams—at hearts a spaceship, in needs of application, while walls churn
unto beige: but will a mansion,
filled with rubric rooms, as convicted to pursue greatness; to answer destiny,
floating through campus, at studies with brains to fires; attending to motion,
that buoyant force, accused of more than living. I love the swan, this coppice
of jewels, by experience our causes; to witness such grayness, to have held
such disposition, filled with vim a lively energy: as sung a puppy; or drummed
a falcon; such as singing close with tunes; to know by grace, this face of
souls, afire a mindcave.
