The Swan (draft)

Feathers leafed across

the silver neck,

elongated by the sun’s

dawn fingers. Reflections

change on the water’s

surface; webbed feet

cracked into separate

toes.

Every night as moonface

greets the pale ripples,

a crown of moss

adorns the head,

mocking its gilded

cousin for the barrier

keeping them

apart.

Coarse voice soon

turns to music,

eased by lips instead

of beak. But the instance

is fleeting, a rolling

waiver shimmering with

the false promise of

escape.

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