A lone swan
hoom, hoom ,hoom
So low I can see it’s chest heaving with every pull against gravity
This evening I see the road lit living rooms of empty souls
Filled with terror
Like the view of a dream through windows, from the outside
Is this the real life
Within?
Without the Great Tit calls with seesaw clarity
succeeding a winter sheet, that has hung lenses from arching rose stems
That show a world upside-down