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


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

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