March 26, 2019

The Black Swan by Sime Knezevic

Frost falls from her feathers

as she unfurls her shadow.

A turtle swims violently slow

beneath the ripple she did spur.

Kingfishers coo in chorus,

the sun in their beaks.

Morning clouds wax and wane like fire.

Over the water and flying.

Circle the stones, pile with sticks.

Plucking four black feathers,

she covers the rubble burying her cygnets.

Her beak clicks, eyes blink;

breast pulsates, calling her mate.

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