fifty white swans

fifty white swans

descending through
cool white clouds

hovering so close
to earth

I can feel
the flutter of wings

a choir
of angelic birds

the seasonal furrow
the sacred southern V.

pointing the way
homeward

after a summer
of boreal bliss

(the post coital kiss)

Four and a half
fresh inches

of blue dusky snowfall
waking from the dream

of falling feathers
a subarctic Icharus

awaiting signs
shimering silver

in the chrome
of mid October light

when night arrives
with full moonlight

bedding down
harvest of stars

in the quiet chill
a song of birds

the rhythmic flapping
of one hundred wings

pierced by blue starlight